Scratch Deeper (16 page)

Iona wanted to bow her head. ‘Yes, sir.'

‘What was it called?'

‘PETN.'

‘Correct. Pentaerythritol tetranitrate. An organic compound. What is liquid chromatography used for?'

‘Purifying proteins.'

‘Separating things out.' Wallace tapped his fingertips together. ‘Not combining them. Stay back after class, Detective. It's extra chemistry lessons for you.'

She glanced up but he wasn't smiling.

‘It is,' he said, ‘a classic case of two and two making five. You hear about a tunnel and believe only you in the CTU know about it. You hear about a piece of missing laboratory equipment and, just because the person you're searching for had access to that piece of equipment, you leap to the conclusion he stole it. Then you make the further assumption the equipment is being used to manufacture explosives. Let that be a lesson, Detective. Don't let your suspicions cloud your judgement.'

She felt like a schoolgirl. ‘Sir.'

‘Now, apart from charging round the convention centre – oh, and popping over to visit Vassen's tutor in the chemical engineering department . . .'

She blinked with surprise. He'd clocked it. When I mentioned talking to Professor Coe earlier on, he knew I was glossing over things.

He waved a hand as if to say he couldn't be bothered dealing with her minor act of deceit. ‘Where are you with the Mauritius link?'

‘I have the footage from outside the library now on disc. It's waiting for me at my desk. I need to try and ascertain if the associate of Vassen is, indeed, the suspect in Appleton's murder.'

‘Looked into the existence of any community from Mauritius in the north-west?'

‘No, sir. I haven't had time.'

‘Well, you're in luck, because I have. A simple search on Google has brought up a couple of interesting things. I bet you didn't know there's a football team made up of Mauritians currently living over here?'

Iona shook her head.

‘There is. The Mauricien Exiles. They play in the first division of the Bury Sunday League,' he put a finger on a sheet of paper, ‘alongside other well-known teams such as Radcliffe Town, Bridge Tavern and Whitefield Wands. I also contacted The Border Agency on your behalf.' He turned the uppermost sheet over. ‘They've provided me with some names of Mauritian passport holders living in the area. Over forty, as a matter of fact. Addresses included.'

‘Right,' Iona said, leaning forward to take the sheets he was now holding out. ‘I don't suppose any have the surname Bhujun?'

He snorted. ‘We should be so lucky. However, many of these people seem to be located in and around Bury. Never know, our guys may be lodging with one; the community doesn't appear to be very big.

‘There's a separate thing you need to know about.' He looked straight at her. ‘We've received reports that a Muslim cleric with extreme views is now at a particular mosque in Bury. The Jamia Masjd on Oram Street. It's not the first time this particular mosque has been associated with extremists. This particular cleric? The last time he popped up was in Wootton Basset, shouting abuse at the coffins of our boys being flown back from Iraq and Afghanistan. Calling them murderers of innocent Muslims.

‘What I'm wondering is this: could there be a connection? Might our characters from Mauritius be visiting this mosque? Because if they are, it will save us – sorry, you – one heck of a lot of hunting around.'

Iona was struggling to cope with the sudden change of tack. She cleared her throat. ‘I'm not quite sure what you're asking me to do, sir. Set up camera surveillance on this mosque?'

Wallace laughed. ‘In the area where it's located? They'd sniff us out in no time. Besides, there are no resources for that, Detective. Not at present.'

She remained silent, watching as her senior officer studied the ceiling above her.

‘The reports about the presence of this particular cleric are – as yet – unconfirmed. We could do with knowing if he's really there. Better than that, we could do with knowing if he's planning any kind of demo at the conference centre. It would be just his style.'

‘Sorry, sir. If cameras are out, are you asking me to visit this mosque in an undercover role?'

Wallace's gaze dropped to her face for a moment before he broke eye contact to check something on his screen. ‘Would you be comfortable doing that?'

Iona swallowed. The shift in focus – from trying to trace Vassen to investigating a mosque in Bury was so sudden. Wallace was talking about a covert visit. ‘I'm. . . . I'm not sure, sir.'

‘Thing is with this tunnel, Detective. It's a minor blip – something the team will rib you about for a while. It would be forgotten a lot faster if we could get you doing something of real significance.'

Her mind seemed to be stalling as the implication of his comment sank in; the search for Vassen and his accomplice wasn't really important. It had been trivial, inconsequential; a task for the baby of the team. But now he was offering her something worthwhile. A way to redeem herself in everyone's eyes. ‘But – for a start, I'm not a Muslim. I've never even visited a mosque.'

He hunched a shoulder. ‘You wouldn't be expected to deliver a sermon, Detective. We know this mosque allows women in through a separate entrance to the men. You could probably see if this particular cleric is there. Maybe get wind of what he's up to. Have a think, OK? In my view, it would be a very productive use of your time. Especially if this pair from Mauritius are also linked to it. That would be something worth our attention.'

She couldn't get over how everything had been flipped on its head. ‘And the tunnels, sir? That's no longer a priority?'

‘Detective, if you're dealing with vermin, would you prefer to trap them once they're running around in your kitchen, shitting in your cupboards and spoiling your food – or would you prefer to find their nest and deal with them there?' He bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. ‘It's the same with these types. Better to track down where they're operating from – in Bury or elsewhere.'

Iona nodded uncertainly. ‘What should I do with the CCTV footage? Is it worth trying to confirm whether the person outside the library is the one suspected of killing Appleton?'

Wallace thought for a moment. ‘Yes, it is. At the least, it will give us an up-to-date image of him. You'll find that useful if you decide about looking into the Bury thing in more detail.'

You mean sneaking into a mosque, Iona thought. One with apparent links to extremists. Her legs felt a little shaky as she stood. ‘I'll get on to it, sir.'

His attention had switched to the documents on his desk. ‘Don't take too long letting me know what you decide,' he muttered.

‘Sir.' She paused in the act of turning, wondering whether to ask the question still rattling around in her head. Was Wallace aware of the tunnel? Because if he was, he purposefully let me make a fool of myself. She had to know. ‘Sir, the underground canal. Did you have prior knowledge of it before I called it in?'

He sighed, head staying down. ‘The canal? Detective, there are many, many concerns relating to the security of the convention centre.'

She nodded, aware she was now hovering in front of his desk.

He glanced up, but only as far as her stomach. ‘That is all, Detective.'

‘Sir.' She retreated towards the door, wondering whether he'd just deliberately avoided her question.

B
ack in the main office, Iona was relieved to see the most of the day shift's desks were now deserted. She glanced at her watch. No wonder, it was getting on for half-six.

She headed over to her workstation and sat down. The message light on her desk phone was blinking so she lifted the receiver and pressed the button. Professor Coe's voice on the line.

‘Yes, hello . . . Detective Khan. It's Professor Coe from the university. Apologies for the delay in getting back to you. The colleague I mentioned has been extremely busy.'

Iona leaned back in her chair. I know what's coming, she thought.

‘He's not aware of any method of explosives manufacture where the Frac-900 could be of any use. I won't bore you with the details, but the process involves combining, not isolating, elements. I hope that's of some use and . . . I wish you success, with your investigation.'

Yeah, thanks, Iona thought, replacing the receiver. If only you'd got back to me a bit quicker. Letting out a sigh, she looked at the little Blu-tack figure on her monitor: its legs had buckled and the thing had keeled over on its side. Know how you feel, she thought, reaching for the CD case the CCTV control room had sent over.

As the disc began to whirr in her computer, she studied the handwritten note that had been placed inside the case.

As requested – footage from outside Central Library, 17 September, 1.45–2.05 p.m. Not included: footage from the tram platform.

She frowned. Tram platform? Why mention that? A window opened up on her screen; the image was from on high, looking across the front of the library towards the Midland Hotel. Figures were frozen in the field of view. A suited man on his mobile phone. A couple of young lads in jeans and hooded tops. Two females in white headdresses, bags over their shoulders. A courier, pushing his bike.

Superimposed in the top corner was SP1; in the other was a time stamp. Iona pressed play and watched. The people immediately resumed their business – the young lads heading in the direction of the burger place just up from the Temple of Convenience. The two females in white headdresses walked up the library steps, the courier wheeled his bike forwards, passing from view directly below the camera. More office workers entered the picture. The businessman finished his call and disappeared in the direction of the town hall.

After five minutes of footage, she saw the Sub-Urban Explorer calling himself Hidden Shadow emerge from beneath the library's portico. At the same time two men entered the edge of the screen from the direction of the Midland Hotel.

Iona hit pause. One was Vassen, no doubt about it. Lanky and with a mop of black hair that he was running a hand through, working his fingers back and forth as he did so.

The other one was shorter, thick shoulders hunched up. But he was wearing a baseball cap. Damn it, she thought, did Hidden Shadow mention any baseball cap in that underground bar? She let the footage resume and watched as the pair climbed the steps and proceeded past the Sub-Urban Explorer. The face of the shorter one was obscured the whole time. Hidden Shadow, one hand half-raised, looked over his shoulder and, after a moment's hesitation, turned on his heel and followed them in.

Iona fast-forwarded through the remaining footage until the view changed. This camera angle was lower and appeared to be from the direction of Oxford Street, looking past the cenotaph and across the tram tracks towards the library's entrance. Even worse, she groaned to herself. The view would be from behind the two Mauritians. After a few minutes Hidden Shadow appeared, but the distance was so great he was all but unrecognizable. Vassen and his companion entered from the left with only the backs of their heads showing. ‘Typical,' Iona muttered, watching the scene play out.

She sat back and let out a sigh of frustration. Had Hidden Shadow mentioned a baseball cap? She reached for her notes from their meeting. Yes, he had. Who, she asked herself, wears a shirt, chinos and a baseball cap? Only someone deliberately trying to keep his face hidden, she concluded. Or someone not particularly up on Western fashions. She traced a finger down her notes. Result! Whoever the mystery companion was, Hidden Shadow said he'd taken his cap off on entering the library. She smiled; there was the solution. She just needed to take Ranjit's mugshot from the police file and show it to Hidden Shadow. He can confirm if they really are one and the same person.

Opening her top drawer, she brought out her copy of Ritter's file and turned to Toby's mobile number. It rang through to answerphone.

‘You want Toby?' The Mexican accent was totally overdone. ‘He no here. Leave him a message. Maybe he call you back.'

‘Hello, Toby, this is Detective Constable Khan here. This message is extremely urgent so please call me the moment you get it. I need to speak to your friend, Hidden Shadow.' She left her number then went straight to text and left him the same request. Saturday night, she said to herself. Almost seven o'clock. I hope he's not ferreting about in some sewage drain for the evening.

She reached for her mouse and rewound to the first camera's footage. Hidden Shadow appeared from under the portico, Vassen and his friend stepped into view. The lower half of the friend's face was visible for a fleeting second. She dragged the bar at the base of the screen back a fraction, froze the image and tried to expand the menu box to show more than just Play, Pause and Stop. It wouldn't display anything else. Where's the zoom? A right click of the mouse opened a box with the option of saving, moving or closing. How, she wondered, do you operate this? The bloke in the control room definitely said you could enlarge stuff. ‘Why won't you work?' she growled under her breath, moving the cursor back to their faces and clicking repeatedly.

‘Iona, you OK?'

Euan was standing by her desk, a concerned look on his face. ‘I've had better days,' she announced quietly.

He frowned. ‘I'm really sorry about earlier. You know – when everyone was having a giggle about—'

‘Forget it. Euan, do you know how to work these media-player things?'

He examined her screen for a moment and then waved his hands theatrically. ‘Don't ask me about stuff like that! I can't even figure out how my niece's Leapster works.'

She smiled up at him before turning back to the monitor. ‘You should be able to manipulate the image – crop it, blow it up, things like that.'