The Shadow Maker (38 page)

‘which is what I have to assume with Kavella’s operation apparently ruled out.’ For all that she disliked him, Roxby was pointing her in the same direction as Jack Loftus, the same direction now of her own reasoning. ‘And while that makes it harder to find, it doesn’t alter a basic fact that shows this case is different in a fundamental way.’

‘Okay, I’ll play Glaucon to your Socrates,’ said Roxby. ‘What way?’

‘The context of this killer’s dreaming is somehow outside his own head. It’s external. It’s objectively real, my dear Glaucon,’ she surmised.

‘It has a smartcard as a key.’

It was late Sunday morning and Flynn could hear church bells ringing when he got the summons from Barbie.

‘I’m sending a limo to pick you up. It’ll be there in half an hour.’

As Flynn put down the phone he couldn’t help smiling. Despite the fractious relationship between them, he’d been expecting an invitation from his boss to receive his reward for delivering the game. After shaving and showering, he dressed in smart chinos and a blue silk shirt as befitted such a meeting on a bright and sunny morning. He was ready when the chauffeur-driven limousine arrived at his apartment block. The drive to Brighton took little more than ten minutes, but instead of delivering him to the beachfront mansion the chauffeur dropped him off at a cafe-bar nearby - the Half Moon. This was where Barbie went on Sundays when there was no urgent business to attend to and he felt like a holiday from his professional image.

He was sitting at a window table looking as relaxed as a post-coital lizard, lounging behind a bacon and egg breakfast, knife and fork in hand, wearing beach shorts, sandals, a faded Eagles T-shirt and a pair of Clooney sunglasses. A Sunday newspaper was spread open on the table. Flynn immediately felt overdressed. This wasn’t the reception he’d anticipated. Not when you were in line for a big bonus - and the kudos you deserved.

Barbie gave a lazy wave towards the chair opposite. ‘Thanks for coming at short notice,’ he said. ‘But I thought I should tell you in person.’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Xanthus. I’m shutting it down.’

Flynn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Why, for fuck’s sake?’

‘It’s done its job. I got the deal I wanted. Time to move on to frontiers new.’ Barbie cut a piece of fried bread and chewed on it.

‘I’ll retain various rights, of course - and the profits. But the assets will be sold off. I’ll make the announcement next month.’

‘What happens to me?’

‘I’ll buy out the rest of your contract, of course. Then it’s back on the job market - like everyone else at the company.’ He brushed a crumb from his lip. ‘But the experience you’ve gained will be invaluable - as long as you don’t breach any commercial secrets or copyrights.’

Flynn read the threat with disgust. ‘You mean
keep my mouth shut.

What about the recognition? What about the bonus I deserve?’

Barbie put down his knife and fork. ‘There was never any mention of a bonus. Besides, you’re just one member of a changing line-up.

Over the past three years, fifteen different faces have filled the core team and, while I appreciate your contribution, it was the work of my project manager, Josh Barrett, that ensured we met the deadline.

And let’s face it, your histrionics tended to get in the way, so I feel I’ve done more than enough for you. I’m the one who carried the entire burden of risk, so I reap the rewards.’

‘Hog all the credit, you mean.’

‘Yes, well, don’t let it bug you,’ said Barbie, sipping from a glass of cranberry juice. ‘
Sic gloria transit mundi.
‘

‘Sick is right. I should be in line for an ex gratia pay-off.’

‘Get real.’ Barbie took off his glasses so Flynn could see the look in his eyes. ‘You can’t afford to be bitter, my friend. I don’t want to deal with any repercussions, if you see what I mean.’ He swallowed the rest of his juice and stood up. ‘By the way, don’t have anything to do with that woman cop. I saw you talking to her at the party.

She’s dangerous. Sees beneath the surface of people. I don’t want to have to deal with her either.’ He picked up a Sunday paper and turned to go. ‘I’ll send in the chauffeur to drive you home.’

Flynn didn’t say anything. When the chauffeur came in he told him, ‘Get lost.’ Then he ordered a large whisky and drank it neat.

Then he ordered another and sat there contemplating his plight, trying to pinpoint the blame. It wasn’t a pleasant exercise.

As he drank more whisky he felt his emotions flicker back and forth between rage and anxiety. The rage centred on Barbie, who’d used Flynn’s brilliance to make himself hundreds of millions of dollars.

And in return? No reward. No recognition. It was unacceptable.

That meant he had to do something about it - and that’s where the anxiety kicked in. It centred on Detective Sergeant Van Hassel.

She could be used for revenge - but how much was he going to divulge? He was still undecided when he took her card out of his wallet and phoned her.

Rita drove along the highway, past upmarket car dealerships and turned into the leafy streets of Brighton. The houses here were substantial, the gardens fastidiously neat, the two combining to exude an air of respectability and money. Among its residents it could count one Martin Barbie - so it was intriguing to be invited for an ‘off-the-record’ chat with Eddy Flynn, who said he was ready to

‘dump the dirt’ on this epitome of bourgeois success.

Even the main shopping strip had an exclusive feel to it, with people in refined casual mode enjoying the pavement cafes or browsing at the expensive shop windows. Rita found a parking space beside the copper-steepled church and joined the promenade past fashion boutiques and patisseries, a bookshop called Thesaurus and a Victorian post office now selling Laura Ashley. The place she was looking for was opposite the railway station. She went in and spied Flynn at a window table downing a drink. He looked distracted and uncomfortable among the rest of the customers - mothers with babies; well-groomed men; immaculate women, invariably blonde.

‘Okay, I’m here.’ She sat at his table. ‘And I’m all ears.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few things to tell you about the man I’ve been working for.’

She’d only met Eddy Flynn twice before. On both occasions he’d been assertive if not aggressive. Almost theatrical in his managerial role. Today he was quite different. Subdued. Deflated. An intelligent young man wrestling with disappointment. He was holding it in, but not very well.

‘Fine. I’m off-duty and this is off the record.’

She glanced around but no one was paying them any attention.

Two infants were squawking in highchairs nearby, their mothers spooning froth into their mouths from babycinos. At other tables couples grazed over late lunches, the women flicking through Sunday magazines, the men with their faces in the sports pages. Under umbrellas outside sleek females with perfect tans and faces older than their figures exchanged gossip over salads. A man walked by with a pair of Afghan hounds on leads. The railway gates started clanging. The coffee machine growled.

‘I’m not completely the arrogant bastard I seem,’ Flynn began.

‘Some of it’s just an act.’

‘I know.’

‘My way of getting people’s attention, motivating them.’ He clasped his hands. ‘Getting the job done.’

‘The secret of your success,’ she said.

‘Until today.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Barbie - the evil fuck - has sacked me. At this table. Less than an hour ago.’ Flynn put his head in his hands.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘He’s selling off the firm next month. We’re all getting the chop.’

The waitress came over and Rita ordered a latte.

‘When I say he’s evil,’ Flynn resumed, ‘I mean it literally. He’s got everyone fooled, the way he charms the pants off people. Like the devil himself. But underneath he’s got the scruples of a thug.’

This was beginning to sound like nothing more than personal resentment. She wondered if there was any real information for her.

‘Is he really that bad?’

‘I’ve accessed his private data. It shows what he’s up to. He manipulates everyone. Exploits their strengths and weaknesses.

Corrupts whatever he touches. His public image - fake. Business ethics

- non-existent. Marriage - a sham. Private life - degenerate. And he doesn’t care who gets hurt. That’s why you should stop him.’

‘Me? Personally?’

‘You’ve got him worried. He thinks you’re onto him.’

‘About what?’

‘Whatever you suspect him of.’

‘I suspect him of a lot of things,’ said Rita. ‘What can you tell me about Kelly Grattan’s sudden exit?’

‘I’ve already told you all I know, which is nothing.’

‘When you say Barbie’s corrupt,’ she went on, ‘have you got any hard evidence against him?’

Flynn cut her short. ‘That’s your job. This is off the record, remember?’

The waitress placed a latte on the table as a suburban train rumbled out of the station.

Apart from confirming her opinion of Barbie, this didn’t seem to be going anywhere helpful.

‘Why do you say his marriage is a sham?’

‘It’s just about money. For both of them. That’s why she whored for him in Tokyo.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know the details. Just that Giselle’s body was part of the deal. What you’d call a sweetener.’

There was nothing she could do with this information, amazing as it was - though she wondered if it was true. ‘You mentioned his private life.’

‘He uses prostitutes.’

‘I saw that for myself,’ she said. ‘At his party last night.’

‘No, you don’t get it.’ Flynn shook his head. ‘He uses them all the time. He’s addicted to them. That’s how you catch him out.

Expose him. Destroy his reputation.’

‘I’m not some sort of moral crusader.’

‘You’re a hotshot detective with the Sexual Crimes Squad,’ Flynn interrupted again. ‘We’ve all seen what you do - how you crack cases, deliver summary justice, blow away criminals.’

‘Don’t be conned by the media,’ she said. ‘Look, I know Martin Barbie’s an immoral man with a fake image. But unless he’s breaking the law, he’s allowed to be manipulative. He can also be as decadent as he likes with consenting adults, including his wife.’

‘What about his complete lack of business ethics?’

‘Again, that’s only relevant if you can prove he’s breaking the law.’

Rita sighed. ‘In my opinion the closure of Xanthus Software is no great loss. The firm is riddled with corporate neurosis. If it wasn’t being shut down, I’d recommend a team of industrial psychologists go in and blitz the place.’ She drank some coffee and decided there was nothing she could act on. ‘So let’s be realistic.’

‘Huh.’ Flynn showed his contempt. ‘Same fucking thing he said to me. You and Barbie have more in common than you realise. You play by the same rules.’

‘It isn’t a game.’

‘Of course it is. Like everything else in life.’ He pushed away his empty whisky glass and got up from the table. ‘I’ve been wasting my time talking to you and I’ve got better things to do. Like deciding what happens with the rest of my fucking life.’ With that he walked off.

Rita shook her head and finished her latte.

As she left the cafe the railway bells were clanging again, prompting a tired father in distressed denim to chase a toddler along the path, the little boy excited at the approach of the train. While she waited for the gates to open she cast her mind back to the hospital interview with Kelly Grattan. The question mark over Kelly’s injuries was lodged in her case notes like an unresolved discrepancy, while Kelly’s deceit, pay-off and flight overseas were consistent with the culture of angst that infested the firm. Xanthus was an investigative itch that Rita couldn’t scratch, and Flynn had added nothing to alter that. As a line of inquiry, it was still a dead end.

It was late Sunday, around the time of evensong, when she arrived, and Barbie was wearing a gold silk robe. She walked hesitantly into his suite and gasped at the panoramic view, the gleaming lights of the skyline filling the windows.

‘Very impressive,’ she said, her voice rich with the intonation of old Europe.

He looked her up and down. She was a good choice, young and fair-haired with high cheekbones and sultry eyes. She was dressed in a suit that would deflect suspicion.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked.

‘Moscow.’

‘How old are you?’

‘I’m twenty-two,’ she said pertly. ‘And I offer all services.’

‘Very good, Natasha. We’ll start with the oral.’

As she undressed he tossed aside the robe and sat naked on his embroidered sofa. Then she got down on her knees between his legs.

Her compliance was what he needed - someone at ease with venality, no questions asked.

He’d set the scene before her arrival, scattering rugs, putting candles on the table and lighting the incense. Its pungent scent drifted through the room, adding to the strangely blasphemous mood induced by the Gregorian chant playing softly on the music system.

It appealed to his sense of decadence, letting the sound of religion calm his mind while the young Russian knelt in front of him, her perfect body glowing in the candlelight. She was like a lubricious nymph - and she was at his mercy.

Rita arrived at the police complex on Monday morning to be called into an immediate briefing with fellow taskforce officers. As they filed into the room the reason for the urgency became obvious. An additional set of crime scene photos had been stuck to the wall. The Hacker had struck again, and his latest victim was obviously dead.

Mace was again in charge. Loftus stood beside him, expression sombre, as the detectives settled around the table, cups of tea and coffee in their hands, tight Monday morning frowns on their faces.

Mace waited for the grunts and shuffling to subside. ‘The call came in just before one o’clock this morning,’ he began. ‘Victim number four. DSS Strickland and DSC Matt Bradby were called out to the scene. They and the crime lab people spent most of the night there or backtracking the girl’s movements and waking up witnesses. They only packed up a couple of hours ago, so we’ve got a pretty good idea how the Hacker carried out his latest attack.’