Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) (63 page)

CHAPTER 22

“The odds are hundreds of thousands to one. Sure it has to be yer man.” 

Harry’s voice emanated from the speakerphone in the centre of the oval table within the small meeting room adjoining the major incident room. The core team sat around the table, DCI Raul Da Silva at the head, his hands clasped together in triumph. Flanking him on either side were DS Alan Coombs and DC Karim Malik, recently back from processing the SEAT Toledo crime scene. DC Fiona Jones sat next to Jenny. DCS McLintock was also conferenced in. She was surprised he hadn’t popped down; he was only in his office three floors above.

“I agree, Harry,” said Da Silva confidently. “Have we got Ronald Keeble’s address yet?”

Despite herself, Jenny was almost impressed with Da Silva’s transformation over the course of this week. She’d kept Da Silva afloat during the early stages of the investigation, when it was nigh on impossible to properly prioritise all the different lines of enquiry. But over the last day, as the case started to narrow to its conclusion, he had taken charge, without her help in the background. He’d even started referring to his officers by their forenames.

“Yes, it’s in Basildon, in Essex,” said Fiona. “Confirmed from the Flexbase staff database as well as the electoral role. He’s twenty-nine, unmarried and lives alone.”

“He works in the security centre in the Flexbase head office in Docklands. Spends his day watching CCTV,” offered Harry.

“And his night watching webcams on SecretlyWatchingYou,” added Karim. “Talk about taking your . . . work home.” He just about managed to drop the swear word he’d been about to include.

Jenny recalled the quiet CCTV operator from her visit to the Flexbase headquarters the other day. It was hard for her to accept that she had only been a couple of feet from the murderer and not realised it. Surely some police instinct should have warned her. And to top it all, he had brazenly operated the CCTV controls to bring up video images of himself walking through Paddington and Watford receptions, dressed in his cycling gear. And his disguise must have had worked because, a day later, she had come eye-to-eye with the killer herself and hadn’t recognised him beneath the cap and sunglasses. 

But it did explain his unexpected but creepy reaction on seeing her again. 

You would have been good. That’s the shame of it.

Jenny wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering involuntarily. 

“What else do we know about him?” asked DCS McLintock.

“No criminal record. Born and bred in Essex. Parents live in Southend. He’s been working for Flexbase for nearly three years,” summarised Harry, clearly enjoying his moment in the spotlight, even though he wasn’t in the room. “Before that, yer man worked at the Bellagio in Las Vegas.”

“Okay, so where is he now?” demanded Da Silva. “Home? Work? Somewhere in-between?”

Jenny gazed out of the window. It was early evening, dark outside. The rain had started again. She spoke up. “He’ll be arriving home about now. I phoned David Dawson, the Flexbase CEO. He got Magnus Peggler, the CIO, to check the security system. Apparently, Keeble left the office just after 5:00 p.m. It would take him about an hour to get to Basildon from there. He commutes by train.”

“Okay, I’ll organise a search warrant and clear things with Essex constabulary,” said McLintock from the speakerphone. 

“Three strands,” ordered Da Silva. “Alan, Karim, you’re with me in Basildon. We’ll request local support from Essex as well.”

Jenny looked up sharply. Why hadn’t he included her in the take down team?

He continued. “Harry, now that we have our chief suspect, you can finish processing the crime scene at Patrick Harper’s.”

“I’m yer man, sir,” Harry responded, cheerfully.

“Jenny…” She clenched her hands. “You’ve got a relationship with Dawson at Flexbase. We need to seize Keeble’s work computer as evidence. He’s bound to have logged into SecretlyWatchingYou from work, as well as home. You head over there. Take Fiona.”

Jenny felt everyone staring at her, knowing they’d all be shocked that she was being excluded from the arrest. She studied her fingernails. To be given such a trivial task was humiliating. It was Da Silva finally letting everyone know who was in charge. Just as she’d suspected, he would trample over anyone on his rise to the top. She should have left him to drown at the beginning of the week. But no, she’d seen an opportunity to help herself gain more SIO level experience and had grabbed the opportunity. Except the records would show DCI Raul Da Silva as SIO
and
the arresting officer of a multiple murderer. 

Not DI Jenny Price.

No one spoke up. If DCS McLintock hadn’t been on speakerphone, perhaps someone would have jumped to her defence.

“Everyone clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, I’m off home then,” said a new, tired-sounding voice from the speakerphone. “I need a shower.”

Jenny hid a smile. It was Brody, still in Harper’s flat with Harry. He hadn’t been announced when the meeting began. 

“Ah, Mr Taylor,” said Da Silva, somewhat chagrined. “On behalf of the Metropolitan Police, I’d like to say a huge thank you for your invaluable assistance today.”

* * *

The windscreen wipers flew side-to-side, mesmerising him. A horn beeped behind and he realised with a start that the lights had changed to green. Brody forced himself to focus and turned into Upper Street. A few hundred yards later, he slowed to a stop in the middle of the road, indicating right, although all the resident’s parking spaces outside his apartment were occupied. He glanced left and saw a car pull away from outside Bruno’s. Fate was telling him something again. He flipped the indicator left, checked his mirror and drove frontwards into the spot.

His usual seat was taken. He didn’t care. He was too tired for anything. Without the adrenaline-fuelled rush from his earlier exploits, the lack of sleep was getting to him. He was also starving. 

“Ah, Mr Brody, Mr Brody,” greeted Stefan, who then halted mid-track when he saw Brody’s dishevelled state. “Mr Brody, is everything okay?”

“It’s been a long day, Stefan. I’m tired and hungry, what can you do for me?”

“Here, sit, sit.” Stefan showed him to a sofa in the centre of the room, facing the back of the coffee lounge. Brody dropped into the sofa and fought the urge to curl up and go to sleep. “We have good panini, Mr Brody. Prosciutto, pepper and basil, or maybe chicken, olive and artichoke?”

“I’ll have one of each, thanks Stefan.”

“And for drink?”

“Surprise me.” 

Brody pulled his tablet PC out of his man bag and lazily connected to his private Wi-Fi network across the road.

He logged onto CrackerHack. As expected, he was the talk of the town. He read through the posts congratulating him on pwning Crooner42’s site. He began typing, announcing his presence.

Fingal:
Thanks guys.

He waited, and his screen soon filled with congratulations and questions.

Mawrpheus:
You d’man, Fingal. 

Random_Ness:
Great work. How’d you do it? What exploit did you use?

What exploit indeed. He didn’t answer. Not answering would let the buzz about him grow. Allow his elite status, that had so nearly been ruined, to elevate to an even higher plane. 

Mawrpheus:
Where’s Matt_The_Hatter? He’s a bit fucking quiet since he’s been beaten.

Random_Ness:
Yeah, Matty boy. Where are you, man?

Brody laughed at their bravado now that Matt_The_Hatter had been beaten. Just the other day only he and Doc_Doom had dared to stand up to Matt_The_Hatter. But Brody had discovered something all the others didn’t know. There was no way Matt_The_Hatter would be joining the conversation. He couldn’t. He was currently locked up in a police cell in Holborn Station.

Patrick Harper had more than one online handle. He’d been building them up over years. Crooner42 was his primary one, but Matt_The_Hatter was one of his others. Earlier in the week, when Crooner42 had initially awarded the work to Matt_The_Hatter, everyone had been shocked, including Brody. Why would passive Crooner42 award the work to the overly aggressive Matt_The_Hatter? But Harper had cleverly awarded it from one of his personas to another. Brody recalled that Matt_The_Hatter had been the first to ask Crooner42 who’d been awarded the work. It had come across as a self-serving request designed to feed his own ego, but it had been asked to prompt the community to draw the information out, resulting in the predictable conversations that had forced Fingal into a public contest against Matt_The_Hatter. 

Only there had been no contest. Matt_The_Hatter already had full access to SWY. Harper had this as insurance. If, somehow, Fingal got close then Harper would quickly login as Matt_The_Hatter and pwn the site in his name. Either way, Harper would have won, humiliating Brody. Either by Brody failing or by Matt_The_Hatter apparently winning. One of Harper’s handles, Crooner42 or Matt_The_Hatter, would have risen up the ranks of the hacking community while Fingal’s credibility plummeted. 

The fact that Harper’s original request for help on pentesting SecretlyWatchingYou had been sent to him alone had been hidden in the noise that came afterwards, all generated by Harper and the rest of the online rabble. But if Brody hadn’t responded that morning, then he was sure that Harper would have tried again another time. 

And Brody knew now why Patrick Harper had singled him out. Revenge. Brody had once known of him as Patrick Smith, aka Zyr0ss, when he had been a sixteen-year-old hacker behind a gambling scam that Brody had been paid to unmask. Brody had never met him then, or even seen a picture. Which was why Brody still thought it strange that he’d recognised Patrick Harper when he’d first seen him earlier.

Brody had done his job at the time and provided the information to the gambling site owner, and had never thought about Patrick Smith again. Until today, when he’d looked through Patrick Harper’s computer while hiding in the secret room. Brody had discovered details about his personal history and put it all together. Then he’d found login credentials stored for multiple sites, for both Crooner42 and Matt_The_Hatter, and replayed the chat logs and worked out how Harper had put it all together. 

It had been a neat plan. Brody had never been so well manipulated. And it had very nearly worked.

“Here you are Mr Brody,” announced Stefan with a flourish. “Two panini and a large Coca-Cola.”

Stefan placed the items in front of him. 

“I bring you espresso in a few minutes.”

Brody thanked him and began devouring his supper. Instantly life coursed through him once again.

Refreshed, Brody felt capable of doing what he needed to do next.

He picked up his mobile phone and dialled Jenny. He hoped she would answer.

As he waited for it to connect, he noticed another message pop up on CrackerHack.

Doc_Doom:
Fingal. At last. I need to talk to you. URGENTLY. Usual place. Right now.

It took four rings before he heard Jenny’s voice. 

“Yes, Brody.” Her tone was flat, giving nothing away. He focused his attention on her. Whatever Doc_Doom wanted, it could wait.

“Hi Jenny. Hell of a day, eh?”

Nothing. Just the background noise of a car. She was on hands-free.

“You off to Flexbase in Docklands?”

“Yes.”

“Can we meet up later on? I think we need to chat.”

A long pause. 

“I’m not sure Brody. You lied to me. Manipulated me. More than once. I’m in no mood to repeat that experience.”

She was right. He had lied to her. But the truth would damn them even more.

“Jenny, whatever you’ve heard about me today I need you to know one thing . . .”

He waited. Another message flashed up on the screen, but he ignored it.

Doc_Doom:
Fingal. This is serious. Your life is in immediate danger. We need to talk now. 

“What’s that, Brody?”

“I’ve fallen for you. Deeply. I don’t want this to end. We’ve only just begun.”

“Is that you
social engineering
me again? Saying what I want to hear so that you get what you need?”

What the hell? This was bad.

He said the only thing he could say. “It’s the truth. And I’m truly sorry if I’ve hurt you.”

“No Brody. I don’t think you know the difference between truth and lies. Between right and wrong. You live in a world of grey. My world is black and white. You don’t fit in my world.”

“But —”

“Goodbye Brody.” The line died.

Brody sat there, immobile, blinking into space.

Stefan placed a double espresso on the table in front of him. “There you go, Mr Brody.” He looked at Brody’s shocked face and smiled kindly. “Cheer up, Mr Brody. It may never happen.”

Another message flashed on his screen.

Doc_Doom:
Fingal. You’ve been outed. 

The written words slowly filtered through the haze of Brody’s mind. 

And at that moment, he remembered where he’d seen Harper before. Brody was staring at the exact spot that Harper had sat two nights ago. And again yesterday. Patrick Harper had been in Bruno’s. 

Which meant that, somehow, he’d tracked Brody down in the real world.

* * *

Jenny hung up the hands-free on Brody and told Fiona, “You didn’t hear any of that.”

“Yes, boss.” And then after a moment’s hesitation, “So you and Brody got it together, then? We did wonder, when you chose to stay in his titchy car during the stakeout last night.”

Jenny turned and stared mutely at her colleague. Fiona suddenly shouted, “Red light!”

Jenny pressed her foot on the brakes. Her A3 noisily skidded on the wet surface but halted inches from the car in front. Through the relentless windscreen wipers, she could see the wide eyes of its driver in the rear view mirror.