Dead and Gone (18 page)

Patricia was immensely relieved when, in the distance, she was able to see the towers on York Minster from the train window. Although there had been no further approach from the man, and although she had avoided looking in his direction, she was aware of his gaze reflected in the train window, which had remained fixed on her for the rest of the journey.

Out of her eye corner, Patricia could tell both by the expression on his face and the way his focus of attention shifted, moving downwards as he examined every curve of her body, that the man was mentally undressing her. She felt her skin crawl at this loathsome inspection. She was desperate to leave the train; to put as much distance as possible between herself and the unwelcome attention he was lavishing on her.

The last few miles seemed to take forever, but even so, when the train eventually halted alongside the platform, Patricia remained in her seat, waiting for the man to move. When he failed to do this, she grasped the handle of her laptop case and stood up. She stepped past him, taking care to avoid contact with
his knees, grateful for the space provided. She paused to lift her wheeled overnight bag from the overhead rack. As she stretched up, the temptation was obviously too much for him. His hand reached up between her legs, causing her skirt to ride up as he moved along her thigh towards his goal.

All the passengers were facing the other way as they crowded along the aisle, eager to get to their destination, or to a bar before they continued their journey to the football match. Patricia turned, swinging the laptop case. He flung his hands up, instinctively trying to protect his face; but as he did so she switched her target. There was a satisfying gasp of pain as the heavy case struck his groin, and as he bent double in discomfort, Patricia snatched her suitcase and fought her way past a group of protesting supporters as she exited the train at a half-run, halfstumble and marched down the platform, her pace masking the trembling in her lower limbs. As she surrendered her ticket at the barrier, she glanced back, but there was no sign of her assailant amid the sea of brightly coloured scarves and hats.

She reached the relatively safe haven of a nearby coffee bar, which was all but deserted. Presumably the supporters were aiming for places that sold something more powerful. She ordered a large latte and took the drink to a dimly lit corner from where she had a good view of people passing by. After a few minutes she began to hope that she had shaken off her admirer. She reached into her bag, removed her mobile and pressed a short-code. As the word ‘Home’ appeared on the screen she waited for Julian to answer.

Julian was disturbed by her account of events. ‘Why don’t you come home tonight? You’re obviously upset, and you can always go to tomorrow’s meeting from here. I’ve to be away early, I can make sure you’re up in time.’

‘I’d love to, Julian, but it isn’t practical. The CEO wants to see me at 8.30, before everyone else arrives. To get there in time I’d have to leave home before seven o’clock.’ Patricia hesitated. ‘There isn’t a train at that time in the morning. Certainly not one that will get me to Netherdale; let alone Bishopton.’

‘Why don’t you take your car?’

It was no good, she’d have to tell him. ‘I can’t; I forgot to tax it before I went away. The tax ran out three days ago.’

‘In that case I suppose you’ll have to carry on to Bishopton tonight. Please be careful, though, and be sure and call me from the hotel later on. Is it the Mitre you’re staying at?’

‘That’s right.’ She ended the call, drank the last of her coffee and glanced towards the wall clock. As she did so, she was conscious of movement in her peripheral vision. She turned quickly, but all she could see through the window were commuters drifting towards the platforms. She looked back at the clock and saw that it was time for her to move. She had to buy a ticket, and she was aware that the Netherdale train would depart from the most distant platform, which would mean hauling her case up and down steps and across the connecting footbridge.

She slipped the shoulder strap of the laptop case over her head and gripped the handle of her wheeled suitcase. As she threaded her way between the tables to the door, the man who had been watching her through the window shadowed her movement, making sure there were several passengers between him and his target. He was in no hurry. He had already bought a ticket in case she took the Netherdale train. Ivan was a great believer in forward planning. He watched from a safe distance as she queued at the ticket office. He rather hoped she’d decided to continue working and not go home. That would mean she would have to be disposed of, but Ivan thought he could have quite a bit of fun with her before the time came to kill her. The memory of her soft skin and the idea of what he would do to her was already exciting him.

Nash spent an hour going through the paperwork surrounding the events at the holiday cottage, Stark Ghyll and the workshop. There were reports for the inquests, all meticulously drawn up by Tom Pratt. Not for the first time, Nash thought how lucky they were to have someone with such expert knowledge to work with them. His brain fastened on the word ‘expert’ as he considered the investigations that were still ongoing, the computer scam being uppermost. They needed specialist technical help – and needed it urgently, not only for the email scam but perhaps they could also look into the B.I.G. case. He remembered what Jackie Fleming had told him about the force’s computer experts. They would not be free for months. By that time the email trail would have gone cold. Or even colder, to be more accurate.

Mironova and Pearce were in the outer office when Nash emerged. He waited for Mironova to come off the phone. ‘I’m going through to Netherdale tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘I’m not prepared to wait for our own boffins. I’m going to plead with Jackie and the chief for us to hire an outside specialist. Viv, am I right in thinking you’ve done all you can in respect of the email scam?’

‘Yes, Mike. I could try to go further, but I’m concerned I might trigger a virus which would affect either our computers or those of the victims.’

‘I’ve also got to think about the Linda Wilson murder. I’m convinced it’s connected to the Bishopton fraud, and we could do with some expert help there too.’

When Nash put his case forward, both the chief constable and Superintendent Fleming listened sympathetically, but Nash could tell by O’Donnell’s face that he was going to be unsuccessful. However, before she could refuse the request, Fleming intervened. ‘I’ve an idea how we could do this, ma’am, and possibly avoid any cost being incurred; or at worst, very little.’

‘How do you suggest we do that?’ O’Donnell asked.

‘If we hire someone on a commission only basis, we could agree with the victims of the email scam that they would meet the cost of the expert from the funds recovered. A bit like those lawyers in America who take on the personal injury cases on a no-win, no-fee basis.’

‘Or those companies that keep pestering me about PPI which I’ve never had, you mean?’ the chief constable retorted. ‘I’d go along with that if it can be arranged. Do you have anyone in mind?’

‘Leave it with me. I have an idea, but don’t want to make any promises, in case it doesn’t come off. I feel sure if I can sort something, Mike will approve.’

On his way back to Helmsdale, Nash wondered about the slightly cryptic nature of Fleming’s final remark and the mischievous smile that had accompanied it. He would have been even more intrigued if he’d known what transpired back in Netherdale HQ.

Fleming went back to her office and picked out a visiting card from her folder. She dialled the number and spoke. ‘This is Superintendent Fleming. You remember our discussion a few weeks back? Well, I think I have something for you.’

Half an hour later, she returned to the chief constable’s office. ‘It’s all arranged,’ she told O’Donnell. ‘The computer expert will start work tomorrow.’

Gloria put her pen down. ‘Go on, tell me about it.’

Jackie explained, and eventually revealed the identity of the specialist she had hired.

The chief constable whistled. ‘Now I understand. She’s the young woman Mike met on that case connected with old London
mobs. Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous? She’s highly attractive. Having her work alongside Mike is a bit like lighting a match in a fireworks factory.’

‘Nash doesn’t seem at all bothered about women these days.’

‘An alcoholic can stay off the booze for more than a year, but I still wouldn’t leave one alone in a brewery,’ the chief said, with a grin.

‘I still don’t think he would succumb.’

‘Twenty pounds says you’re wrong.’

‘I’d take that bet, but how will we know?’

‘If the silly grin on his face doesn’t tell us, Mironova’s sarcastic comments will.’

‘Right, you’re on. Twenty pounds it is.’

Later that afternoon, Fleming phoned Nash and told him, ‘The specialist will report to you tomorrow morning.’

‘Who is it? Have they been given clearance and identity cards?’

‘Don’t worry about that, Mike. In view of the urgency I’ve skipped all the usual formalities. Identification won’t be a problem either.’ She put the phone down before Nash could ask for an explanation.

He had only been in his office next morning for a few minutes when the internal phone rang. ‘Yes, Jack?’

‘I’ve Dr Silver in reception for you, Mike,’ Binns told him.

‘Dr who?’

‘No, not Dr Who, Dr Silver. The computer expert you were expecting.’

‘I’ll be right down. Hang on, when you said Dr Silver, is that Tina Silver?’

‘You got it.’

Nash took the stairs two at a time and walked swiftly across to the reception area. ‘Tina,’ he greeted her, ‘this is an extremely pleasant surprise.’

She took his outstretched hand and shook it. ‘Hello, Mike. A surprise? Didn’t Superintendent Fleming tell you I was coming?’

‘She told me to expect someone. She didn’t tell me the name of our expert. I think it was her idea of a joke.’

Tina let go of his hand and reached for her laptop case. Nash took it from her and ushered her towards the door. He held it open for her. His act of courtesy had no ulterior motive, although it did enable him to admire her legs as she preceded him up the stairs to the CID suite.

‘Why don’t you set up your computer in my office? I can work out here with Clara and Viv. That way you won’t be distracted by our comings and goings when you’re working. Whilst you’re doing that, I’ll make a drink. Tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee will be fine.’

Nash was returning with the drinks when Mironova entered the outer office. ‘Morning, Mike. Jack told me the expert is here, but he was a bit mysterious about it. He said I’d know them when I saw them. Who is it?’

‘Open my office door and you’ll find out. Here, you take this coffee. I’ll go make another.’

Clara took the mugs from him and opened the door. Tina looked up, expecting to see Nash. ‘Oh, hello, Clara.’

‘Tina! So you’re the specialist we were expecting?’

‘That’s right. Superintendent Fleming arranged it.’

When Nash returned a couple of minutes later, the girls stopped chatting and Tina informed him she was ready to start.

‘In that case, we’d better wait for Viv. Then if you ask a technical question you might get a sensible answer. Without Viv to act as translator, you’ve no chance.’

Later that morning, when Nash took Tina another mug of coffee, she reported progress. ‘I’ve made a start on the email scam. These are usually quite easy to trace or block, but this guy is a cut above the normal scammers. A few cuts above, to be fair, and I’m going to enjoy doing battle with him. I’ve not met many of his type before.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘The easiest way to illustrate it would be by comparison. You
must have people on your books whose work you can recognize by their MO, burglars for instance?’

‘There are a few,’ Nash agreed.

‘With computer fraud it’s very much the same. The usual ones are those offering recipients lots of money. The best known of those would be the supposed relatives of dead Nigerian generals or politicians who have left a fortune that must be got out of the country.’

‘I would have thought everyone knew about those by now – even I do. Surely nobody gets taken in by them anymore.’

‘You’d be surprised. However, this one is way more sophisticated than that. The first email offering the saddles for sale was harmless, but the second one laid the trap. Whatever action the victim took, by simply clicking one of the response options, it activated a tracking cookie, but one with a specific objective. The next time the computer went online to view their bank account their login details were recorded and transmitted to the thieves without the victim being aware that anything untoward was happening. Once they were in possession of the codes, the thieves were able to impersonate the account holder and when they accessed their account, they could authorize payment to themselves.’

‘I thought you needed one of those card reader gizmos before you could do that?’

‘Unfortunately that’s only true for certain banks. Sadly, a lot of them, even some of the bigger ones are by no means as security conscious as they should be. In most cases, all you have to do is enter the payee’s account detail, the amount and then press go.’

‘That sounds as if it was made simple for the thieves.’

‘That’s certainly so with the ones I’ve looked at so far, but I haven’t looked at many of them yet. I’m having to work very carefully, which is why I reckon this guy is cleverer than a lot of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another level to this fraud that I haven’t got to yet. One thing I do know, he’s built in certain safeguards against people like me tracking him.’

‘What sort of safeguards?’

‘We call them bear traps. If someone tries to follow the trail of the money he’s got some nasty surprises for them. The sort that will infect your computer and wipe your hard drive clean.’

‘You keep saying “he” or “this guy”, does that mean you’ve a clue as to his identity?’

‘No, it’s more a generic term. Although most of the hackers like this are loners, working in some solitary room away from prying eyes. Anyway, I must get on with the work. As I say, it’s slow going.’

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Nash paused at the door. ‘There is one thing. Let me know when you’re about to start work on the Bishopton Investment files. There’s some paperwork to look through to decide if any of it might be useful or not. It isn’t here so I’ll need to make arrangements.’

Patricia struggled across the footbridge between platforms, the wheeled case proving more of a hindrance than a help. Only when she had descended the steps at the far side did she look back. There was no one she recognized in sight. Her relief would have been short-lived if the angle of her vision had included the middle of the footbridge, where Ivan had stopped until he could see his target board the train. He waited, noting that she had opted for the rear compartment. That suited his purpose admirably. He strolled down the steps and entered the first of the two carriages.

He took a seat facing the rear of the train and immediately opened the newspaper he’d bought at the station kiosk. It was a broadsheet, ideal for masking the reader from all but the closest surveillance. Ivan turned the pages, eventually selecting one that contained meaningless lists of figures. His command of English was limited, but he could make out that these were stock market prices. He had no interest in such matters and had never owned a share in his life, yet he studied that page with all the diligence of the most avid investor.

It was only when the train began to move that Patricia relaxed. Her nightmare was over. The unwelcome admirer was a thing of
the past, the distance between them increasing with every turn of the wheels. She would already be several miles away from the horrible creature.

Little more than thirty feet away from where she was seated, Ivan ceased his pretence of reading. He decided it was time to check the other compartment, to ensure the woman was still on board. He didn’t for one moment believe she would have been clever enough to trick him and get off the train, but he had to make absolutely sure. He was being paid far too much to take chances.

He reached the division between compartments and stood far enough away to avoid activating the automatic doors. As he peered through the glass panel he could see there were only a few passengers in the other compartment. And there she was, her head bowed over the screen of her little computer. Ivan’s excitement grew. ‘Soon, my pretty lady. Very soon you will become mine. You will be Ivan’s play toy.’

A passenger nearby stared at Ivan, wondering what the crazy foreigner was jabbering on about. All foreigners were mad, that went without saying, but those that mumbled away to themselves definitely needed locking up.

Ivan returned to his seat. He hadn’t intended to speak aloud, hadn’t realized he’d done it until he saw the man staring at him. It didn’t matter. The likelihood of anyone on that train understanding Slovenian was extremely remote.

A dozen or so passengers got off the train when it reached Netherdale. Ahead of the rest of them, Ivan hurried to the barrier to surrender his ticket. He knew the woman would have to wait half an hour for her connection to Bishopton. But he didn’t want her to see him. Not yet. Not until he was ready for her. After that, she could see all she wanted of him – for a short while.

Once he was outside the station, Ivan located the car that awaited him and drove to Bishopton, where he parked alongside the tiny single-platform station. Shortly before the Netherdale train was due, he walked across the car park and paused alongside the taxi rank, which contained only one vehicle. Noting
the company logo, he dialled a number on his mobile. ‘I am at Bishopton station. There is taxi. I need it moved. You can do this?’

‘Yes, of course, give me the number.’

Ivan read out the number from the door panel of the taxi.

‘Remember your instructions. Don’t do anything; not until I’ve found out how much she knows.’

‘What you want me to do?’

‘Just keep her out of sight, and let me know when you have her computer. I want it switched on, then leave the rest to me.’

Ivan wondered again about the person he was working for. Apart from the one mobile phone number, he knew absolutely nothing about them. They had never met, and although he had been paid in advance for his services, the payment was made directly to his account. His employer was obviously keen on their identity being kept secret, and Ivan wondered why this should be. Still, it didn’t matter, as long as the money was good. Ivan’s business philosophy was simple. He was happy to do whatever was asked of him, as long as he got paid.

Within five minutes, the taxi moved off to collect the phantom passenger. All was now ready. He hoped there would be no other passengers on the train. However, with luck, even that should pose no problem.