Fever of the Bone (43 page)

‘That must have been hard for you.’

‘You have no bloody idea. I felt like some other man had been there. Inside my wife.’ He scratched his head. ‘I knew in my head it wasn’t like that, but in my heart it was a different story.’

‘What was it like after Daniel was born?’

A tender smile lit his ravaged face. ‘It was love at first sight. And I never wavered in that. But at the same time, I knew he was an alien. He wasn’t flesh of my flesh. I never really knew what was going on in his head. I loved him to bits, but I never knew him.’ He gestured at the TV. ‘That’s what I’m still trying to do. But I never will now, will I?’

There was nothing to say. Paula stood up and patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll be in touch.’ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said anything emptier.

‘That was the beginning of the end of my marriage,’ Lara Quantick said bitterly. ‘I thought a baby would bring us together. But he was like a bloody silverback gorilla. He hated Niall because he was another man’s child in his eyes. Plus it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t a real man. I bet he’s not even sorry.’

Sam nodded, trying to look sympathetic. He’d got what he came for. Confirmation that Niall Quantick was a donor baby and that the sperm had come from Bradfield Cross Hospital. He couldn’t see what else Lara Quantick might have that would be any use to him. Now he just had to get out of here before he got sucked into a complete rerun of her fucked-up marriage. He almost felt sorry for her ex. He wouldn’t mind betting that every time they had a row, Lara threw his lack of manhood in his face. He stood up. He was a copper, not a counsellor, and while he was stuck in this crappy flat with her, the real action was elsewhere.

‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, already halfway to somewhere else in his head.

Ambrose had felt ambivalent about the government’s anti-terrorist measures ever since they’d been introduced. The policeman applauded anything that gave them the powers to make the streets safer. But the black man was made uneasy by anything that made it easier to isolate and target minorities. This lot were supposed to be the left, but they were capable of some pretty repressive stuff. Who knew how the new rules might be applied under a regime that really didn’t care much for civil liberties. Look how much damage had been done to the US in the Bush years. And they had way more checks and balances than the UK.

But he had to admit there were some aspects of the legislation that made his job a lot easier. OK, sometimes you had to stretch a point and make somebody out to be a lot more dangerous than they were, but you could get all sorts of information these days that used to take a lot of time and more evidence than was often readily available. Take air passenger lists. It used to be a nightmare getting airlines to give you access to the names of the people who had flown on any individual plane. Warrants had to be obtained from magistrates who didn’t always agree that your need to know was stronger than the airline’s right to customer confidentiality. Then you had to hope the passenger list still existed.

But now, it was easy. You flew, you were in the security services computer system. And the likes of Ambrose could generally find a friendly officer who totally understood that catching killers was a lot more important than some notional idea of personal privacy. Especially if you were the kind of copper who made a point of making friends rather than enemies.

So it was that Monday morning that Ambrose received a text from an unidentified caller which simply said, Ur pal misd his plane. Didn’t make another flite.

Ambrose congratulated himself on his instincts. He’d covered a lot of ground the day before. There had been a couple of possibles on his list by the end of play. But he’d had a gut feeling about the computer security geek, especially when his girlfriend had shown them the extent of their equipment. If anyone could have performed the cyber stalking evident in this case, it was Warren Davy. And whatever his girlfriend believed, Warren Davy wasn’t in Malta. He was out there somewhere, a serial killer on a roll.

Wherever he was, Ambrose bet he was grooming his next victim.

After the frustration of the past few days, Carol felt almost exhilarated at the way information was coming at her. Connections were starting to emerge, and she felt the thrill of the hunter who is finally getting the scent of their prey. The DNA breakthrough had turned everything on its head, confirming Tony’s earlier conclusion that these were not sexual homicides.

Now they knew for certain that all four victims had been born as a result of artificial insemination. Three of the mothers had been treated at Bradfield Cross Hospital’s sub-fertility unit, the fourth at a private clinic in Birmingham. Her next stop should be the clinic here in Bradfield. She had no idea what they could tell her. Her knowledge of the law around donor sperm was scant, but she did know that back when these babies had been made, the donations had been anonymous.

She was about to call Paula to get her coat on and join her when the phone rang. ‘Stuart Patterson here,’ he said before she could even identify herself. ‘I think Alvin’s come up with a suspect.’

‘That’s your sergeant, right? The one that’s over in Manchester?’

‘That’s right. He was on the knocker yesterday, trying to make something out of the car registrations we got. He had a couple of possibles, but one of them, his girlfriend, who is also his business partner, she said he’s in Malta, but he’s not. And he’s perfect for it. They’ve got a company, DPS, that deals in computer security and data storage—’

‘Slow down, Stuart.’ Carol’s head was spinning as she tried to process his garbled sentences. ‘What’s Malta got to do with it?’

‘Sorry, sorry. I’m just . . . this feels like the first proper break, you know? Everything coming together - the profiling, the back-to-basics door-knocking coppering and the technology - and giving us what we need.’ She could hear him take a deep breath. ‘Right. One of the cars that came into Worcester the day Jennifer was killed was a Toyota Verso registered to a guy called Warren Davy. He’s a partner in a computer security company, DPS. When Alvin went to his place, it turned out he’s not been at home for over a week. According to his girlfriend, he flew out to Malta to set up a security system for a client. But when Alvin checked the passenger manifests, he found that Davy hadn’t flown on the flight he was ticketed for. And he didn’t take another flight instead. Davy went off the map after Jennifer was killed but before the three boys. He told his girlfriend the lie about Malta to buy himself freedom to commit the other murders.’

‘What about the girlfriend? Does Alvin think she knows what’s going on?’

‘Clueless, he reckons. She’s supposed to get Davy to call Alvin next time he checks in. But so far, he’s not been in touch.’

‘You think he will be?’

‘Depends how clever he thinks he is. He might reckon he’s smart enough to bluff us.’ Patterson still sounded excited. She knew how he felt but was better at hiding it. A shadow fell across her doorway and she saw Stacey hovering. She held up two fingers, indicating she was almost done.

‘You think we should go public with this?’ Patterson was saying. ‘Put out his photo, tell people to call him in? Should we hit the farm where he lives with the girlfriend? See what we can find there?’

That was one she wanted to run past Tony. Her instincts were to hold back, but without any clue as to when he planned to strike next, it was a high-risk strategy. ‘Can I get back to you on that, Stuart? I don’t want us to make a snap decision. I’ll call you later. Tell Alvin that’s brilliant work.’

Carol ran a hand through her hair and summoned Stacey in. ‘Nothing for days, then it’s mayhem on steroids,’ she said. ‘I need you to pull everything you can off the grid about a man called Warren Davy who runs a computer security firm called DPS. I want everything. Credit details, mobile phone records.’

Stacey’s eyebrows rose. ‘I know Warren Davy.’

Shocked, Carol said, ‘You know him? How?’

‘Well, when I say know, I mean cyber-know. He’s a security expert. He’s approached me a couple of times about software apps. We’ve chatted online. He’s very good.’ She looked worried. ‘Is he our suspect?’

‘Is that a problem for you?’

Stacey shook her head but still looked troubled. ‘It’s not a problem in the sense of a conflict of interest. He’s not a friend, he’s not someone I have a business relationship with . . . It’s just that, if he doesn’t want to be found, it’ll be hard to find him.’

‘Great. That’s all I need,’ Carol groaned.

Stacey’s face cleared. ‘I’ll consider it a personal challenge. The one thing I have going for me is that he doesn’t know me as a cop. He thinks I’m just another geek. If he thought he was going up against me, he’d be taking every precaution he could think of, but if he thinks he’s just dealing with standard plod, he might be a bit careless. I’ll get right on to it. But there’s something else I wanted to run past you.’

It was always worth paying attention when Stacey took the time to talk. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I’ve been doing some tinkering,’ she said. ‘The codes that the RigMarole people very kindly handed over have let me in the back door of their system. It would be quite easy for me to set up a global C&A on Rig.’

‘Can you translate that?’ Carol said. ‘I thought C&A was a chain of European department stores.’

‘Capture and analyse. You tell the server to look for a particular combination of keystrokes and then set up elimination criteria. I could set it up to deliver me anyone whose username is a double letter. Then we could manually look at what they’re saying. We might be able to identify the next targets that way and stake them out. Then we’d be able to catch the killer in the act.’

Carol looked dubious. ‘Could that really work?’

‘The computer end of it is perfectly feasible. I can’t speak for what will happen once you go live into the field with it. It’s a lot of work. But I think it’s worth trying.’

Carol thought for a moment then made her decision. ‘OK. Do it. But Warren Davy is a priority. If you can ping his mobile and locate him that way, that would be a huge bonus.’

‘Abracadabra,’ Stacey said as she left. Carol could have sworn there was irony there.

Alvin Ambrose was late. Paula had been detailed to meet him and bring him up to speed, but he’d just called to say he had a flat tyre and would be another forty minutes at least. She’d got his message in the car park at Bradfield Cross, just as she and Carol were heading back from a frustrating meeting with the consultant in charge of fertility services. ‘I’m going to talk to Blake,’ Carol said. ‘I need him to authorise the surveillance if Stacey comes up with a potential victim. Why don’t you grab something to eat before you meet up with DS Ambrose? The way things are going today, it might be your last chance.’

Paula knew how to make that an even better idea. She texted Elinor’s pager: In Strbks. Lattes r on me. She wasn’t holding her breath, but it would be more fun if she didn’t have to eat alone. She bought two coffees and a panini and sat by the window. Back to the hospital, though. She didn’t want to look pitifully eager.

Eleven minutes later - not that she was counting - Elinor appeared in a flurry of white coat and black jeans. ‘I’ve only got twenty minutes,’ she said, leaning down to give Paula a warm kiss on the cheek.

‘I’ve not got much more than that myself.’ She pushed one of the lattes towards Elinor. ‘I didn’t know if you wanted anything to eat.’

‘I’m OK. How’s your day been?’

‘Up and down. I was in the office till four, then back at seven. Your brainwave with the DNA has really given us a new angle. Thanks.’ She grinned. ‘Even if I did get the piss taken out of me mercilessly.’

‘Just as well Stacey was there to alibi us,’ Elinor said drily.

‘In spite of the piss-taking, I did get to be the star of the morning briefing. Which was nice, because it’s been downhill since then.’ She told Elinor about her encounter with Mike Morrison.

‘I can’t imagine how distraught he must be,’ Elinor said. ‘How do you climb back from losing your son like that, then your wife too?’

Paula sighed. ‘It’s amazing what you can recover from.’

Elinor gave her a shrewd look. ‘You can tell me about it one of these days.’

Paula smiled. ‘It’s a pity not all doctors are as accommodating as you.’

‘Meaning what?’ Elinor stirred her coffee and gave Paula a speculative look.

Paula chuckled. ‘Not like that. We’ve just had an exasperating encounter with your Mrs Levinson.’

Elinor made a face of horror. ‘Not
my
Mrs Levinson. Thankfully I’ve managed to avoid her team. She makes Mr Denby look humble. You know what they say about fertility specialists?’ Paula shook her head. ‘All doctors like to think they’re God, but fertility doctors know they’re God. The rest of us only have power over death. Mrs Levinson and her cronies have the power to bestow life. And don’t they know it.’

‘I think that only explains part of why she was so unhelpful, ‘ Paula said. ‘I do actually think in this case she does have the law on her side.’

‘What were you after?’

‘Well, we established that all four of our victims are blood relatives. Half-siblings, probably. In three cases, the mothers were inseminated here at Bradfield Cross. We wanted to know how we could find out who the donor was.’

Elinor pursed her mouth into an O and drew her breath in sharply. ‘You guys have no fear, do you?’

‘We try to hide it.’

‘And she told you there was no way you could find that out?’

‘That’s right. Jordan threatened her with a court order and she just laughed. I tell you, I’ve never seen anybody do that to Carol Jordan before.’

‘She’s right, though. A court order would be useless. Because even Mrs Levinson doesn’t have access to that information. Back when everything was anonymous, a donation was given a unique identifying number. The only place where the number and the ID can be matched is on the database of the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority. It’s kept on a standalone computer. Even if Stacey hacked the HFEA, she couldn’t get at it. You’d have to be physically present. You’d actually have to hack the machine itself.’