Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) (31 page)

“You okay?” asked Brody, keeping pace alongside her.

“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Actually, if you’re going to attend this meeting, there’s some background you need to know.”

“Like what?”

“I need to know you’ll keep this to yourself. This is to be treated as completely confidential.” She halted suddenly and so did he, businessmen and women veering around them. They were on a pedestrian bridge over one of the locks. Boats were moored nearby. In every direction, huge skyscrapers reached for the clouds. She focused her gaze on him, emphasising the seriousness. He furrowed his brow but then nodded his agreement. They resumed their walk.

“Audri is the second victim. Another girl was killed on Friday.”

“I heard something about a student being killed on the news on Monday. Somewhere in Central London wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Paddington.”

“Are you saying they’re linked in some way?”

She nodded, hesitantly.

“But the media haven’t discovered that, have they? They’d have a field day if they did.”

“They will in time.”

“Wow! So Derek Saxton is a . . .” He paused, seemingly unsure of his words, “. . . serial killer?”

“There’s the rub. So far, we can’t find any connection between Saxton and Anna Parker, the first victim.”

“So what makes you think they’re linked?”

“Same MO for both victims. They were lured to a meeting room under false pretences, disabled, tied up in the same way, brutally raped and then had their throats sliced from behind in one sweeping motion with the same weapon, a double-edged dagger.”

“That’s awful.” He spoke quietly while shaking his head incredulously. “You deal with this kind of thing all the time?”

“No, thank God. And there’s one more common factor. Flexbase.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Both girls were killed in meeting rooms in two different Flexbase buildings, three days apart.”

“Blimey. Why Flexbase?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out this morning. The meeting rooms were booked in advance. I need to know if there’s a digital trail that can be followed back to Saxton.”

“Ah, I see. Now, DI Price, that is where I can help.”

* * *

They arrived on the twentieth floor to find a second reception area awaiting them. This one had the Flexbase logo prominently displayed behind an ostentatious reception counter, a massive glass and steel structure with blue mood lighting built in. Sandwiched between the reception desk and the logo were two supermodel-style receptionists, one blonde and the other a redhead, both made-up and manicured to within an inch of perfection. To their left, floor-to-ceiling windows afforded breathtaking views of Canary Wharf and the other Docklands skyscrapers. 

It was a massive contrast to the building’s primary reception area on the ground floor, which served more as a functional security gatepost confirming that visitors were expected by one of the building’s many tenants – most of which were well known financial services institutions – and then routed to the correct floor with a picture badge firmly pinned to their lapel.

The blonde receptionist welcomed Jenny and Brody with an over-the-top, toothy smile. Jenny gave her name. The receptionist confirmed that she had been expected and that Mr Dawson would be with her in a minute. She asked them to fill in the visitors’ register, pointing at an electronic tablet resting on the counter.

Jenny took one look at the touchscreen device, decided it was far too complicated and came up with a new plan, “Brody, you said you wanted to help. Well, here you go. Hopefully, this computer won’t be too much of a challenge for you.”

He took a quick look and said dryly, “I think I can handle it.” As he was keying, he leaned back towards Jenny. “Who’s Dawson?” 

Before Jenny could point out she had no idea, the receptionist answered helpfully, “David Dawson is the Chief Executive Officer of Flexbase.”

“Didn’t realise you were so important,” said Brody.

A booming voice sounded behind them, “Any police investigation involving my company jumps to the top of my queue.”

Jenny and Brody turned around and then looked up. Dawson was incredibly tall, at least six foot eight, and bulky, looking a lot like a contestant from
WrestleMania
squeezed into a business suit. Dawson held out a hand to Jenny. Her hand was engulfed in his. She expected to be squashed, but he shook it gently.

“Thanks for giving us your time,” Jenny said, trying to sound assertive, despite inadvertently feeling like a small child. “This is my colleague, Brody Taylor.”

Brody shook Dawson’s hand, and said, “So I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve been involved with the police, Mr Dawson?”

“Well . . . no,” Dawson said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Although our previous experiences with the police have been limited to the occasional ram raid at one of our buildings, but nothing where anyone was hurt. Shall we go to my office?”

They followed him down a corridor. On one side, a glass partition revealed an office full of call centre staff, mostly women in their twenties. Dawson paused to allow them to take in the busy scene. Speaking like a brochure, he said, “This is the heart of our virtual receptionist service. Every Flexbase client in the UK has a unique switchboard number. Whenever their number rings, it flashes up on the next available operator’s screen with an agreed greeting text specific to the customer. The operator can either take a message or pass them through to one of the customer’s employees. For smaller businesses, it gives the illusion that they are much larger.”

“What do you do out of normal business hours?” asked Brody. 

“Our clients can either opt for voicemail or our offshore receptionist service.”

“Does the same offshore service kick in when your lines become too busy? There’s what . . . twenty operators there. How many Flexbase customers do you reckon share this service?”

Dawson resumed his journey down the corridor, answering as he walked, “We have forty-nine serviced office locations around the country, each with an average of twenty or thirty tenants.”

“Yeah, but don’t you offer the, what did you call it . . . virtual receptionist service? Yes, that’s it. Don’t you have loads of customers who aren’t even tenants in your buildings who can take one of your switchboard numbers and use this service?”

“Yes, Mr Taylor. It’s a popular service.”

“How popular? Tens, hundreds, thousands? A lot more than the twenty in there can handle, that’s for sure!”

Dawson changed the subject abruptly as he pushed open a wooden door, “Here’s my office suite. Sarah, can you bring coffee through?”

With Dawson’s back to them, Jenny mouthed to Brody, “Cut it out,” emphasising with a brisk slice of her hand across her throat. He shrugged, as if to say, “Not my fault.”

Despite her need to bring Brody to heel, Jenny was impressed with his quick analysis of the service. Clearly, the room they had just observed was mostly for show. A demonstration facility for new clients. Most of the incoming calls would be handled offshore, probably in India. But despite Brody seeing through the sham, she was perturbed by his style. She wondered what had riled him up so much. Perhaps it was a Napoleon complex brought on by the presence of the much taller Dawson. Not that Brody was short; he was just over six feet. Maybe he just wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. 

A few minutes later, seated on the opposite side of a massive antique walnut desk, the CEO stated, “The reason I wanted to meet you personally was to reinforce that the full resources of Flexbase are at your disposal to help you with this investigation. It’s been a terrible few days. Obviously, we’re deeply concerned about the way Flexbase has been dragged into this situation.”

Brody made to speak, but Jenny set her hand to his knee briefly. He stayed silent.

“That’s very good of you, Mr Dawson. And there are some people we’ll need to talk to this morning. I think we need access to your Head of IT and Head of Security, or whoever controls the CCTV systems.”

“Sure. Our Head of Security is Ray Stone. And our CIO is Magnus Peggler. I’ll escort you up to them in a few minutes.”

“Do you have any theories as to why Flexbase has, as you say, been ‘dragged into this’?”

Dawson looked surprised by the question. “I’ve honestly no idea. Coincidence?”

“So you haven’t started your own investigation then?”

“Well, yes, of course. But you’ll need to talk to Ray Stone about that.”

“I take it you are including your employees in the investigation?” 

He squirmed in his chair. “Well yes, but just for elimination purposes. It’s highly unlikely to be a Flexbase employee. We have a strict code of conduct.”

Brody burst out laughing. Jenny stared him down, but he spoke anyway, “Listen to yourself, man! What murderer is going to care about your employee code of conduct?”

“Well, I never . . .” 

“We need access to your records. Employees, customers. Past and present,” stated Jenny.

“But that’s commercially confidential information. And then there’s the Data Protection Act.”

Jenny retorted quickly. “What happened to the full resources of Flexbase being at our disposal, Mr Dawson?” 

“If you can just assure me that Flexbase will be kept out of the media.”

So that was what this was all about: protecting Flexbase’s brand. Jenny replied, smiling inwardly, “That’s something you’ll have to discuss with my boss, DCI Da Silva. He’s handling the media engagement strategy.”

“The press haven’t linked the two crimes yet?” questioned Dawson. 

Brody answered, repeating Jenny’s words from earlier, but managing to make it sound like he was making a threat. “They will.”

Jenny gave Dawson Da Silva’s direct line. They finished their coffee and Dawson told them he’d take them to Ray Stone, whose office was on the floor directly above.

As they walked, Dawson resumed his sales pitch. He explained that this was Flexbase’s flagship centre. How they owned the whole building, leasing most floors to long term tenants in the traditional way, but reserving five floors for Flexbase’s own use. Two of the five comprised their head office and three were serviced offices, rented to short-term customers just as in all their other buildings.  The floor they were currently on was Flexbase’s own office space and the one above housed their completely secure, highly resilient computer datacentre facility, hosting hundreds of racks of computers and communications equipment for themselves and many of their clients. Jenny zoned out after a few minutes, texting Da Silva as she went, warning him about Dawson’s impending call. 

They reached a secure door. Through its small glass window, Jenny could see steps leading upwards. As Dawson reached for his pass, Brody patted his pockets and apologised that he’d left his phone in Dawson’s office. He ran back while Jenny and Dawson waited. Unfazed, Dawson began talking about his plans to expand the Flexbase business into the USA through the creation of a franchise model. Jenny listened politely, nodding in the right places. After a couple of minutes, Brody returned, sheepishly waving his phone in his hand.

After Dawson waved his security pass at a sensor and entered a code, they ascended a private flight of stairs. He explained this was the only way to access the floor above and that the public lift didn’t have an exit to the floor. “In fact, the twenty-first buttons in the lifts are only there for show. If a lift was somehow forced to stop and the doors opened, you’d be facing a concrete wall.”

The stairs opened into a hallway. There were two further doors, both security controlled. One was a man-sized vertical glass tube, some kind of double-security door, on the other side of which was a massive room full of racks of computer equipment. The other door off the hallway was located next to a glass window, similar to the glass partition with the call centre staff on the floor below. It gave the view of a CCTV control room, banks of monitors displayed at its rear. In front of the wall of screens was an operator with three further screens in front of him, his back to Jenny, Brody and Dawson. Inside the room, the door of to an internal office opened and a man stepped out. Spotting Dawson through the window, he waved and headed over to them.

Ray Stone was wiry and thin, with the build of a marathon runner. His hair was close cropped and his navy suit was pinstriped. Sparkly jewelled cufflinks competed with his loud pink striped tie for attention. Dawson instructed Stone to provide full employee and customer details to the police. Jenny thanked them both and Dawson made his excuses, leaving them with Stone.

“Were the CCTV video files I had emailed over to you any use?” Stone asked Jenny. 

“Yes, but there were only feeds from the reception area.” She pointed to the bank of CCTV screens through the window. “You seem to have way more than just that on display there.”

“Well, it depends on which building. Watford and Paddington are class three buildings, so the security measures are more relaxed. This one is class one and so we have cameras everywhere.” He pointed to the corner above Jenny’s head. Sure enough, a CCTV camera was looking down on them.

“On the video feeds, we spotted someone we’re interested in. Do you have the original videos to hand? I’ve got a couple of questions.”

“Sure,” He gestured like a showman, “Come into my lair.” Just as he was about to swipe his security pass at the sensor by the CCTV control room door, his attention was diverted by a swooshing sound behind them. They turned to see an internal door slide open from the computer room.

“That’s Magnus Peggler, our Head of IT.”

A man with unkempt black hair and wearing an open-necked plain white shirt stepped into the glass tube. He wore his security badge on a Flexbase-branded lanyard around his neck and carried a tablet computer, at which he busily swiped. The door behind him closed. And then, after a short pause, the external door slide open to allow him to exit and join them in the hallway. 

“Nice mantrap,” commented Brody.

“Yeah,” agreed Stone. “It opens if you’ve got the right security credentials on your pass and corresponding six-digit code. Then there’s the pressure pad on the floor. It weighs you to make sure you match the weight we’ve got stored against you in the computer. If the weight is out of range, it traps you in there and sets off the alarms. Stops theft and prevents tailgating.”