The Coercion Key (14 page)

“I w…wasn’t sure if I s…should look. What with forensics and things.”

Liam interjected. “I didn’t send it to forensics, boss. I reckoned the kid had been handling it so much that Davy could sneak a look without doing too much harm.”

Craig thought for a minute. “You’re probably right, but get it over to Des anyway, after Davy’s checked it.”

He waved Davy on and they all gathered round his desk. A moment later the USB’s solitary file opened on the screen displaying the same suicide note they’d seen hand-copied by every victim. Accompanying it was the number they already had from Diana Rogan’s suicide note; 070645

“Are the numbers making any sense yet?”

Davy shook his head. “A watched computer never dings, chief. W…We’d be better leaving it to run and getting on with something else.”

Craig motioned them back to their seats and gave a wide yawn. “Good find on the USB, Liam. Take over; you seem to have everything under control.”

“Aye, well. I had a hunch about the USB, but I forgot to ask the girl where she found it, so I’ll do that after we break. Jake checked Rogan’s office in town. Tell us about that.”

Jake went to run his hands through his hair then he remembered Craig’s crack about hair gel and bit his nails instead.

“I went to Murphy Johnson Limited, the offices where Diana Rogan worked. They were happy enough to let me look in her office.”

“What sort of firm are they?”

“They specialise in hedge funds. Very exciting... not. She was a middle manager. She’d been there since 2007.”

Craig stopped him for a moment and turned to Davy. “Davy, what was that number again?”

“On her USB?”

“Yes.”

“070645.”

Craig concentrated for a moment, reaching for something that kept slipping away. Eventually he gave up.

“Davy, find out where Rogan worked before her current post. In fact find out where all of our victims have worked in the past twenty years please. Sorry, Jake, carry on.”

“Well, there was nothing much in her office. Just odds and ends and a photo of her kids.”

“I would have thought they’d have sent that back to the family by now. After all, she died weeks ago.”

Jake shook his head slowly. “That’s what I thought, sir, but I asked one of the girls in the office and she said that no-one wanted to clear the office out. She said they were like a family there and Diana was very well liked.”

Craig nodded. He wondered fleetingly how long it would take them to clear his desk if he died. An image of John’s cluttered desk popped into his mind and he turned hastily back to Jake. “Go on.”

“I phoned Liam when I couldn’t find the key then came back to the office to look at the chat-rooms.”

Liam cut in. “I asked him to hunt for frequent players of that crappy game.” He turned to Jake. “Did you find your own name on there, son?”

Jake blushed and Nicky smiled, thinking it made him look like the Milky Bar Kid. All he needed were the round glasses.

“Yes, I did, but I’ve eliminated myself from the enquiry.”

“Now, lad, don’t be so hasty. I think you should bring yourself in for questioning.”

Liam guffawed and Craig laughed for the first time in hours. Jake smiled thinly and carried on.

“There are several solid users of the game online, so I thought the best way to narrow it down was by geography. To rule out any who weren’t in Northern Ireland first of all. I’ve phoned the online provider and I’m waiting for them to call back.”

“You can also eliminate anyone who was online at lunchtime today.”

Jake stared blankly at Craig. “Why, sir?”

“Because that’s when they were shooting John. Unless they’ve got three hands it’s unlikely they were playing the game at the same time.”

Liam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe not, boss. But they could be logged on permanently, just not playing.”

Jake and Davy gawped at him simultaneously. “Blimey, Liam, that’s technical. W…When did you join the 21
^st
Century?”

“Cheeky pups.”

Davy carried on. “It’s a good point though, boss. Our man could s…stay logged on permanently. Unfortunately if he’s really clever he could also be re-routing his server so that he w…wouldn’t show up as playing from Northern Ireland.”

Craig sighed, knowing that they were right. “Try anyway and keep your fingers crossed that he got too cocky to think of it. Is there anything else we could use to narrow the pool, Davy?”

“I w…would say only pick out the male players because your caller was male, but most gamers are male anyway.”

“Try it anyway. Jake, was there anything else?”

“You said his accent was local, sir, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then couldn’t we run an English language filter on all the chat-room posts, and find out who uses English as a first language? If we’re lucky we might get some Northern Irish phrases as well.”

“Brilliant idea, Jake. They were from Belfast or round about.”

Davy interjected. “W…We can programme it for Belfast dialects and third level education, that’s what the caller’s words s…suggested.”

Craig nodded eagerly. Male, local, English speaking with a Northern Ireland dialect and with a third-level education. Even if they’d been clever enough to re-route their posts that should narrow the things down.

“Don’t forget his age range, Davy. Allow for that in your filters as well. And computer literacy perhaps?”

Davy shook his head and gave Liam a sly glance. “Every Muppet in Northern Ireland is computer literate nowadays.”

Liam roared indignantly. “Here, I saw that. Did you see the way he looked at me?”

Craig ignored him and turned back to Jake. “Finished, Jake?”

Jake nodded and Craig waved Davy on. “Have you got anything else for us, Davy?”

“Only w…what I’ve already said, chief. The gun and bullet are working through the s…system and we should have the gamers’ names from the providers by tomorrow. Linguistics is coming back on your phone conversation as well.”

Craig picked at some fluff on his trousers as he spoke, hesitantly, as if he was working out more pieces as he went along.

“OK… Male, late twenties to early thirties… college educated, computer literate, local... targeting victims with apparently no links in exactly the same way. He sends them a platinum key…”

Jake interjected. “So he’s wealthy. And if he has time to arrange all of this, perhaps he doesn’t work?”

Craig smiled. The team always came up with something that he hadn’t thought of, especially when he was preoccupied.

“OK, good. He’s independently wealthy perhaps, or at least not on the bread line if he can afford the platinum to make the keys. So he’s unlikely to be in the benefits system.”

“But he might have investments, sir.”

Everyone turned towards Annette and Craig waved her on.

“Well, I thought that when I saw the platinum. It’s not the first choice of metal in most people’s minds, is it?” She turned towards Jake. “And, keep me right, Jake, but you said that the key in the game wasn’t platinum, didn’t you?”

Jake nodded. “It’s never specified what it’s made of. Most people seemed to choose gold.”

Annette nodded. “So that means platinum means something specific to our killer.”

Craig finished her thoughts. “So investments… or he worked or had family associations with platinum.”

“Especially when he was a teenager playing the game? That’s where the whole thing seems to stem from.”

“Yes, good Annette. Perhaps...” Craig paused for so long that they stared at him. He was trying to follow the thought that had eluded him earlier, but it slipped away again. He shook his head and continued speaking. “OK, so we need to look at the world of platinum. Anyone know anything about it?”

There was a series of ‘no’s’ and Liam grimaced. “Danni wanted me to get her a platinum bracelet once, ’cos she liked the design. I nearly had a coronary when I saw the price. Two grand for a hoop of metal!”

Craig smiled. “I think that’s everyone’s experience of platinum. Except our killer’s. Annette, can you and Jake take that side of things, please? Search for anything you can find on the platinum markets, now and up to twenty years ago. Mining, investments, people who work with it, stocks, shares…” He paused as something occurred to him. “Diana Rogan worked with shares, so did Nelson Warner, and Jonathan McCafferty was a bank manager. There’s a trend emerging here.”

“Dosh.”

“Yes, as Liam so delicately put it; dosh. Money and the handling of money seems to play a big part in this case. Except…”

“Victoria Linton. She was a barrister but she did work in the corporate world for a while.”

Craig turned eagerly to Davy. “Davy, you’ve been looking for connections in their backgrounds. Exactly what sort of work did Victoria Linton do?”

Davy tapped some keys and pulled up her biography on his central screen. They gathered around and started to read.

Victoria Jane Linton. Forty-four years of age. Daughter of Henry, a law graduate and Maeve, a housewife. One brother, Noah – a doctor working in the Christian missions in Africa.

Liam let out a low whistle and Craig knew that a joke was about to follow. “Religious family, eh! There wasn’t much religion about her luxury flat. Looks like Vicky was the black sheep.”

Craig had to agree. Linton’s life had been about conspicuous consumption, from the Porsche in the car-park to the Armani suits in her wardrobe. And there hadn’t been a single religious symbol anywhere in her flat. He read on. Law school at Queen’s University where she’d graduated near the top of her class. She went straight into pupillage and was called to the Bar in 1998. So far so normal, so what did Victoria Linton do next that got her killed?

Davy scrolled quickly down her list of jobs. She’d moved from criminal defence to corporate law and then back to criminal cases, in prosecution this time. She’d obviously found her niche because in 2005 she’d set up Linton and Roche with Stephen Roche, a slightly older barrister, and the Crown’s work had started rolling in. Craig turned to Jake.

“Jake, get me a list of every case Victoria Linton was involved in from the day she left law school. She may not have worked directly with money but she was very close to it in the commercial world.”

“Will do. You think the deaths are connected to a commercial case?”

“Perhaps. Although…”

Annette chipped in enthusiastically. “Although what did a high street bank manager like McCafferty have to do with stocks and shares or commercial litigation?”

Craig nodded. There were a lot of what-ifs and leaps of logic here, but his gut told him they were on the right track.

“OK. The answer is, I don’t know, but I’m sure we’re on the right path, so everyone start digging.”

A husky voice from the edge of the group interrupted him. Nicky had been watching, listening and noting everything down for almost an hour, now she was having her say.

“No.”

Five pairs of eyes turned towards her. They widened as she went on.

“It’s almost six o’clock and there’s been a near tragedy today; it’s a miracle that we don’t have a funeral to plan. Once it’s clear that you aren’t backing off the case then whoever shot Dr Winter will try again, and if you’re all exhausted you’ll get careless and then we will have a death.”

She stood up and folded her arms defiantly, glaring at Craig. “I look terrible in black so I’ve no intention of wearing it. That means no dead friends. Go home and rest all of you, and then start afresh tomorrow.” She pointed an orange-tipped finger at Craig. “And that means you too, sir. In fact, it means you most of all.”

There was silence for a moment while everyone held their breath and stared at Craig, wondering what he would do. Jake was stunned. In his other jobs the idea of a secretary telling everyone what to do was unheard of. But this was Nicky’s kingdom and at times like this they lived by Nicky’s rules.

Craig’s gaze narrowed into a crinkled smile and his navy eyes shone as he started to laugh, so hard that Liam thought he was going to choke. They all followed his lead, even Jake, although his laughter was more hesitant than the rest. He hadn’t learned yet that Nicky’s role wasn’t just to be the best P.A. the force had, but to be everyone’s office mum as well. Craig nodded at her then turned to the others.

“Nicky’s absolutely right. The last thing we need is someone else getting shot because we’re all half-asleep. Everyone go home and come in at ten o’clock tomorrow morning ready to work. We’ll pick it up then.”

Liam winked at Nicky, making her blush, and Annette smiled, adding. “And please don’t anyone try to visit Dr Winter tonight. He’s in the I.C.U. and Natalie’s with him. They won’t thank you for visitors. Calls or whatever you want to send him will be enough.”

Craig nodded. “Everyone, listen to Annette, please. Stay away from St Mary’s. There’s an armed guard on the I.C.U. and John needs his rest.”

He turned towards his office, intent on spending an hour staring at the river in peace, but Nicky blocked his way.

“No, sir. Home and bed.”

He was about to object then he shrugged instead. She was right, just as she always was.

Chapter Twelve

Jenna Graham gazed out of the window at the river and sighed with frustration. Craig’s friend was still alive. She’d shot through vital organs so he would probably die eventually, but it was frustrating that it was taking this long; she’d really wanted Craig to learn his lesson and stop his hunt. Still, it was keeping them all busy so that would have to do for now. It would give her the time to finish off her list.

That was the problem with the police, or rather not a problem, but a plus for her. They saw a crime and got so absorbed in trying to solve it that they missed the next. It was almost as if they had some touching belief in the rules of fair play. ‘Any decent criminal will wait until we’ve solved this crime before they commit another; after all it’s the gentlemanly thing to do’. Well, Mr Craig, I’ve news for you, I’m no gentleman and neither were the people that I killed.

Killed? That wasn’t strictly true; they’d very obligingly killed themselves. All she’d done was present them with a choice and they’d done the rest. But John Winter was all her own work and he was preoccupying them all now. The fog of war was useful and she intended to use its camouflage quickly, before they could work out where she was heading next.

***

Thursday, 8 a.m.

Craig knew that Nicky was right. He should have stayed in bed until nine o’clock and then headed into work after a leisurely breakfast. And when you knew something was right you should do it, that was the rule. But criminals didn’t play by the rules and neither did he, that’s why he was sitting outside St Mary’s Intensive Care Unit at eight in the morning.

He’d arrived an hour earlier, waiting in the corridor until Natalie emerged, looking as wrecked as he felt. She sat down heavily on the banquette and yawned, stretching her small arms out as far as they reached, then she slumped against him with a tired grin.

“It nicked the pulmonary artery then lodged in the parenchyma of the left lung’s upper lobe. They didn’t have to remove the whole lobe, just a small portion of it. Once I’ve got him out jogging for a month he won’t notice any problems at all.”

Craig gave a weak laugh. “Does John know you’re already planning his rehab?”

She shook her dark head. “Not yet. He’s barely conscious. He opened his eyes a couple of times at around five a.m. then went back to sleep. He’s weak from loss of blood but he recognised me OK, thank God. If it had been a head shot I mightn’t even have that.”

Craig said nothing. They both knew that if it had been a head shot John would be dead.

“OK if I go in for a minute, Nat?”

She smiled kindly. “Marc, you don’t need to ask permission from me. You’re the only family John has; you’ve more right than I have to be in there.”

Craig shook his head and stood up, gazing down at her.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Nat. It’s this bloody case.”

She stilled him with a touch. “If it wasn’t this case it would be another one. John loves his work and he loves helping you catch the bad guys.” She laughed. “I think he’s a frustrated detective; he never stops watching those stupid cop shows.”

Craig nodded. Every forty-something in the UK had been weaned on ‘Hill Street Blues’ and ‘The Professionals’, playing cops and robbers in the street.

“John will get better and he’ll take the same risks again, Marc, so there’s no use beating yourself up about it.” She turned to go. “Now, go in and visit him. I’m going to my on-call room to change then I’ll do a bit of work and come back.” She grinned. “I never thought there’d be perks working in a hospital, but unlimited access to I.C.U. is one.”

She walked off down the corridor as Craig watched, marvelling at her strength. She was five feet of steel, and just what John needed to drag him kicking and screaming from his lab into the real world. Craig walked past the armed guard flashing his badge and a nurse showed him into the small, relative’s room. It was familiar, too familiar. They’d gathered there eighteen months earlier when Liam had been poisoned. It was somewhere he’d rather not have seen again.

Ten minutes later he was allowed onto the unit. Craig braced himself before he pushed open the I.C.U.’s inner door, but no amount of bracing would have prepared him for what he saw next. It was even worse than the night before. John was barely visible amidst the metal stands feeding fluid and blood into his veins, and the machines bleeping and clicking his life signs on either side. With Liam it had been much less crowded around the bed, but then poison didn’t necessitate a major operation.

Craig walked slowly towards one side of the bed, thinking that Davy would probably know what all these things did. He didn’t care as long as they kept John alive. In the centre of the extra-wide I.C.U. bed John was barely visible against the white sheets, he was so pale. It occurred to Craig that he’d never actually seen John with a tan, but he’d never seen him as pale as this either. He’d always been an indoor creature, busy staring down a microscope while Craig was tearing around some sports pitch or pool. Although John had always come to watch him compete so he could chat up the prettiest girl in the group.

Craig stared down at the bed, seeing the twelve-year-old John that he’d first met; shy and thoughtful, the total opposite to his sporty, moody self. They made an unlikely pair but they’d bonded over a common sense of humour and they’d been friends ever since. All through his fifteen years in London and his five years of wall-offed defensiveness after he’d split with Camille, John had always been there, no matter which women came and went. Craig sat down by the bed absorbed in his thoughts, as if he was watching a movie of the last thirty years. His thoughts were interrupted by a croaking voice.

“Hopeless shot.”

Craig jerked to attention at the sound and was shocked to see a smile in John’s eyes.

“You’re awake!”

“Of course I’m awake. You don’t think I was going to miss hearing Natalie telling me how great I was.”

“She’ll kill you if she knows you heard her.”

“Too late, someone else got there first.”

Craig stifled a laugh and saw that John was trying to as well.

“Ow! Bugger, that hurts.”

“Stop laughing then.”

Craig’s face became solemn and he was preparing to say something when John spoke again.

“If you’re going to say all sorts of deep Italian things, give me a break and don’t. My head hurts enough. I know you care and I know you’re beating yourself up about this. So don’t. OK?”

“But…”

John winced and Craig looked around for a nurse.

“I don’t have the energy to argue, Marc, so listen. I saw the shooter.”

Craig leaned in urgently. “Can you I.D. him?”

“Her.”

Craig’s eyes widened. “What? But it was definitely a man who called me.”

John shook his head weakly. “It was a woman, Marc. She must have a male partner. My shooter was a woman.”

He gestured towards the water at the side of the bed and Craig helped him take a sip.

“She was white. She looked local; you know that bone structure you see sometimes that could only come from here?”

John was right. There were some faces that looked typically Northern Irish. He was still speaking.

“Blue eyes. She was wearing one of those beanie hats pulled down, but I saw some of her hair. It was auburn and wavy. It looked natural but it might have been dyed, I don’t know. Slim, tall for a woman, about five-ten. Late twenties or early thirties. Freckles too.” He smiled wryly. “For one minute I thought it was Julia.”

He started to laugh then winced at the pain in his back. Craig smiled. John would make a brilliant witness. He’d seen more in a split second than most people did in an hour.

“No. Julia would have shot me, mate, not you. And she’d have finished the job.”

John smiled and closed his eyes. Craig could see his energy seeping away. It was time to go. He stood up to leave and John raised a weak hand to stop him.

“If I don’t make it, tell Natalie that I’ve written her a letter. It’s in my desk. There’s one for you as well.”

“What! What the hell did you do that for? When?”

John waved him away. “Ages ago. Best to be prepared.”

‘DYB DYB DYB’. John had been a scout at primary school and it had never left him.

Craig shook his head. “You’ll make it. Now rest, and thanks for the I.D., it will help.”

Just then a middle-aged nurse appeared at the end of the bed and squinted at Craig suspiciously. “Did I hear you say ‘thanks for the I.D.’?”

“Yes.”

She folded her arms and Craig grimaced at the universal sign that he was in trouble.

“I didn’t give you permission to question my patient, Superintendent.”

Craig found himself stammering like a kid. “I didn’t…he…it was him who wanted to tell me.”

She grabbed quickly at a chart hanging from the end of the bed. “When did he start speaking?”

“As soon as I came in. He’s been talking for five minutes.”

She walked to the side of the bed and leaned in close to John. “Dr Winter.” There was no answer. “Dr Winter, there’s no point you pretending you can’t hear me. Mr Craig’s given you away.”

John opened one eye and glared at Craig. “God, Marc, now they’ll start asking me questions about my bowel habits. I’m going to get you for this.”

Craig grinned and got out while the going was good, certain that John was on the way to recovery and armed with information that would help steer their case. He walked into the corridor, still thinking about John’s revelation that his attacker had been female, and got another surprise. Katy Stevens was standing outside the I.C.U. talking to the guard. Craig swallowed nervously, unsure why he always felt like that when he saw her, and walked over to say hello. She greeted him with a question.

“How is he?”

“John? On the mend. Why don’t you go in and say hello?”

Even as Craig said the words he wanted to bite them back; he wanted to talk to her. He hurried past the suggestion and said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Are you coming on or going off?” Doctors worked such strange hours that you never knew. She smiled and his heart flipped over, just as it had done the first time he’d seen her a year before.

“Going off. I just met Natalie in the office and she told me what happened. She was very upset.”

Natalie? The mini-Boadicea who’d walked away cheerfully twenty minutes before? Craig kicked himself for not seeing behind her bravado.

“John’s fine. He’s talking now. He’s just given me an I.D.”

Her large eyes widened incredulously. “On the person who shot him?”

Craig nodded and glanced at the clock behind her head. It was only eight-forty. He decided to take a chance.

“I don’t suppose you’ve time for coffee? We’re not briefing until ten and…”

She smiled and nodded. “I have actually. I’m off today so I’ve no patients to see. Where were you thinking? The coffee shop in reception is quite decent. Well, the coffee tastes like coffee anyway.”

She laughed and its high tinkling sound cheered Craig up instantly. He glanced back at the door of I.C.U. with a momentary pang of guilt. John had a hole in his back and he was busy chatting up a pretty woman. Then he smiled, knowing that John would be cheering him on if he knew, and be doing exactly the same thing if the positions were reversed. They wandered down the corridor together talking about the case. When John was out of danger perhaps they would chat about other, more personal things, but right now this was as much fun as Craig’s guilt would allow him to have.

***

Damn, damn, damn. The pathologist wasn’t going to die after all, judging by the expression on Craig’s face when he’d arrived at the hospital. There was something hopeful there that hinted at survival. Jenna didn’t care whether John Winter lived or not, she’d just wanted grief to overwhelm Craig’s team long enough to let her finish her work. Now they’d be hunting her even harder.

She pulled a cigarette from her pocket and lit it up, blowing the smoke out in a stream into the cold morning air. She loved smoking at the best of times but smoking in a hospital’s grounds felt like a real ‘fuck-you’. She hated the places. She’d seen the inside of too many of them in the past decade.

Jenna Graham thought about the man lying in bed six floors above. Her best hope was that he hadn’t seen her for long enough to make an I.D. If he had then they might start to put things together and stop her before she’d achieved her goal.

She took one last drag of her cigarette then dropped the butt on the tarmac and ground it in with her heel, sighing out the last of its fumes as she walked to her car. Time was getting short and she needed to shift; the last one on her list was still walking around Belfast without a care in the world. He was keeping her from her treasure and that would never do.