The Unseen (14 page)

“They’ll enjoy it. No worry, boss.”

When Heidi rung off, Sean sent a text to Sophie.
Brighton here we come. Pack bucket and spade.

Ten minutes later he returned along the motorway listening to Mozart’s Violin Concerto in C major. He did not hear the finish, did not realise he was home until he switched off the car engine. PKL still troubled him. Higher levels were reached only by adults, which left the kids safe but what about young women?

Sean woke early the following morning and went down to make coffee. Ten minutes later Danielle drifted by, her feet bare, her hair ruffled and her face soft from sleep. For minutes, Sean allowed himself the pleasure of witnessing the diaphanous effect of morning sun through her cotton nightdress. Some complications in his life, he figured, were more pleasant than others.

On his shuffling drive to London, Camilla phoned. He clipped his mobile to hands free and tried to remain polite in his response. Traffic around him condensed to a solid jam. The woman in the car beside was talking into her mobile with heated animation. He watched her.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Camilla’s voice rose an octave over his phone.

“Sure.” The woman in the car seemed oblivious of her surroundings and stayed when other cars shuffled ahead.

“I’ll pick up the girls from school. You collect them from my house by ten this Saturday morning. That’s the latest for our taxi to the airport. Are you listening?”

“Sure.” He thought of Danielle’s words from the previous evening. Intense concentration by the young is capable of producing physic obsession.

“Now, when you go to Brighton, both girls are to dress properly for dinner. No jeans or Tshirts.”

“Sure.” Pride and the obsession to achieve drives them to higher levels.

“Don’t let Rebecca sunbathe, she has delicate skin and Sophie must wear her teeth brace at night. Right?”

“Sure.” Intelligent women spending thousands of hours dedicated to one game.

“I’ll pick them up again from school the following Friday evening on my return. As usual, I do all the collecting and carrying. Are you listening?”

“Have to go, Camilla. Woman in the next car just swallowed her mobile.”

“Don’t let Sophie chew gum. My children are not street kids.”

“She’s trying to reach it through her ear.”

“Do you understand what I said?”

“Sure, Camilla. Have a nice trip.”

“Remember, Bradley and I will collect the girls from school a week Friday.”

The phone switched off. The woman in the opposite car kept talking, even though the traffic was well clear in front of her. In his mind he saw Danielle crouched over her game console. A harmless game played by thousands is suddenly an obsession with three women who are later murdered. Why?

Sean looked with concern as Steve Rawlings’ twenty stone slouched down on his chair with the threat of impending disaster. Scattered over the desk before them lay components from Helen Carter’s and Lizzie Sinclair’s computers, both units stripped to basics and interlinked by a mishmash of cables. If anything lay hidden, Sean knew this man would find it. Save for football and family, the guy lived and breathed computers. All around the room hummed with activity amidst the rattling clatter of terminal keys punctuated by ringing telephones.

Steve stroked a trim goatee beard as he spoke and Sean could see he had lost none of his shy and nervous disposition.

“The PKL games on these hard drives are different from those bought on the high street or downloaded from the Net,” he said. “My guess is, the recipients were targeted.”

“From where?” Sean asked.

“Can’t tell. What I do know is the games were different insomuch as they were susceptible to a certain virus. The virus went through firewalls so possibly it came from a trusted supplier. Possibly even PKL.”

“Why would the management put out a virus?” Sean asked. On screen he watched Princess Kay-ling’s lithe and supple figure leap from the claws of a crouching dragon, her sword poised ready to strike. Steve pressed a key which froze her in mid action.

“Unlikely the management, could be sabotage,” he said. “Possibly a staff member with access to systems. In truth it’s not a virus because the game accepts it during auto-upgrade which overwrites everything before it. Afterwards it sits in the operating system and does not come to life until use of specific programmes. Only then does it take on the mannerism of a virus, even though it remains benign. See,” he pointed at the screen.

Sean peered at the four words that were concealed within the frozen graphics.
Obey Crystal, trust Zoby.
“Who the hell are Crystal and Zoby?”

“Characters from the game. You’re looking at subliminal psychotic induction. The players of these games were pulsed once every three seconds, that’s twenty times a minute over hundreds of hours play. The suggestions would have become hypnotic.”

“For what purpose? If subliminally they obey Crystal and trust Zoby, what does it do? Improve their game?” Sean could see a quagmire ahead. Convictions came from hard facts, this did not look like court material.

“That is one possible use. I suggest another. What if they then received e-mails from Crystal telling them to go to a forest, or a graveyard? And trust Zoby when they met him there.”

“Three dead women.” Sean felt his skin prickle and tried to rationalise. What Steve suggested was horrendous. “Even under hypnosis nobody does what they don’t really want to,” he countered.

“True, but being so involved maybe they wanted to trust. It’s only a theory.” Steve shrugged and indicated the screen. “I’ve a long way to go before I can prove it. Equally sinister, these viruses are programmed to disappear as each level of game is achieved. If the computers had been left in use, all SPI suggestions would have been overwritten – gone without trace.”

“We have a two-man team, Crystal and Zoby?” Sean asked.

“Men, or women. Or maybe they’re one and the same. I’ve a ton of information to lift yet. This is kind of unofficial and it needs a lot of time.”

“What about the public playing PKL? What if a hotel had a private games room?”

“Wouldn’t be dangerous. A system that size would have special security. These viruses came over the Internet to individuals, possibly sent by some crank or student. Neither is it unfeasible for someone to do it on a worldwide scale. Could be young women are set up to obey Crystal and trust Zoby from Britain to China.”

“In PKL games?”

“These viruses clearly have a connection. My worry with this particular one is its ability to breach the computer’s security. It’s not a normal virus, it’s accepted by the system without question.”

Leaving Rawlings’ office Sean realised the investigation now headed for uncertain ground. Subliminal psychotic induction and murder were an unlikely match, but the consequences if ignored appeared terrifying. He needed something more solid. The council estate in Stoke Newington slapped him back on the ground.

Malcolm appeared from the caretaker’s flat in floral shirt and shorts. Pink-framed glasses and sweet cologne left no doubt. He wanted immediate recognition.

“You’re a big policeman. What can I do for you, dear?” He glanced at Sean’s warrant card.

Sean gave his nice-guy smile knowing it intimidated. “I’m looking for a few facts.”

“The fact, my man, is that this estate is full of head-bangers, druggies and dealers with whom you people do nothing, but because I am open about natural inclinations, you’re always in my face.”

Sean retained the smile but removed any benevolence. “Malcolm, you’ve been done twice for drug dealing, three times for indecent assault and six times for soliciting”

“Everyone a total miscarriage of justice.”

“Creech also tells me you’re an informer.”

“Absolute lie.”

Sean saw the flash of apprehension and knew he’d found a truth. “The injustice, Malcolm, is what would happen to you if the dealers found out. Don’t make this a bad day. Did Sinclair come here often?”

“Perhaps, I don’t know.”

“Spill, Malcolm. Tell me, prevent another injustice.”

“I saw him twice, no more. But he may have come other times, at night. Strangers are always here, dealers, hoodies. They frightened Danny away, he never came back.” Malcolm’s lips pursed. He looked either way along the flats and hugged himself.

“Who’s Danny?”

“No one. He slept in the flat, for favours.” Malcolm shrugged.

“Was Danny here when the girl got murdered?”

Again he shrugged, not looking up. “I don’t know, they frightened him away.”

“Who?”

“Creech.”

“Be scared if you’ve told lies, Malcolm. I’ll be back.”

Sean watched the door close then headed towards the crime scene of Lizzie Sinclair’s murder, waiting on proof of Malcolm’s connection with Creech. It came a few minutes later when two large, shaven-headed young men stepped from a car and walked immediately in front of him. Two more stepped from a doorway behind, a third pair came onto the kerbside. Sean realised he was boxed and though they looked like thugs, he also recognised the style. The leading man stopped before the entrance to a café.

“Boss wants to see you, Mr Fagan,” he said.

With no way to side-step, Sean went inside. Creech sat in a corner, his head shaven, his suit dark. When Creech’s boys came in behind, the few other customers left while the proprietor disappeared to a back room. “Still modelling yourself on the Krays, Superintendent?” Sean said, sitting opposite Creech.

“And I see you’re still modelling yourself on Inspector Clouseau.” Creech smiled as his boys took seats by the door. “What are you doing on my manor, scaring my people, putting your finger in my pie? First your little people come snooping, now you.”

“Trying to find the truth.”

“The truth is often misleading, Inspector Fagan.”

“Sinclair never committed suicide. Not through that window,” Sean said, watching the man’s reaction. Too many lies had spun out of this fellow.

“Let me put the facts. The autopsy showed Sinclair to be six times over the limit. Maybe he didn’t jump, maybe he fell. He’s dead, verdict, misadventure or suicide. Who cares?”

“I do, Superintendent. Lizzie Sinclair was murdered by the same man as Helen Carter and Sarah Finch.”

Creech clasped hands over his stomach, chin drawn down to a cynical smile. “I know. His name is Mears.”

“No matching DNA.”

“There never was.”

“You want to bet?”

“So, pretty Victoria’s been stirring. The case is closed. Bring me new evidence, I’ll consider it.” Creech stood, his boys with him. “The next time you intrude on my manor, Fagan, do me the courtesy of asking first.”

“Stick a guy named Danny on your lists,” Sean said as he entered the office. “An occasional dosser round the council estate and possibly witness to murder.”

The team grunted or waved acknowledgement, some sprawled around the outer office, some bent over reports, others cradling phones. Sean rubbed hands. Details were pointing to a full-blown operation with the possibility of it gaining more resources. Heidi came across and passed a message to phone Steve.

“I’ve got a whole load of SPI influence stored on the hard disks of each victim,” Steve said, when Sean called him. “The source is PKL, Shoreditch. I’m not saying it’s the company. But both games and virus were emailed over a line registered to that company. Could be anyone with access, officially or unofficially.”

“You’re a diamond. Give it what elbow you can, Steve.” Sean hung up and said to the room in general, “I want everyone with time to look at PKL. Anything that can give info.”

“Got something from my interview with Sarah Finch’s mother,” Diane said. “PKL are constantly seeking new small investors. Sarah held a thirty percent share and got a good return on her money. Share buying could possibly give you a way in. You need a minimum of five thousand pounds.”

Sean returned to his back office and contemplated what lines his investigation needed to follow. Subliminal psychotic induction and the PKL establishment looked prominent. Nothing showed any risk to the general public, but somewhere within the PKL structure, something was emerging as a target, and Diane had found the perfect opportunity to examine it. Time to stir the Old Boys and drag the troll into battle, he thought.