Authors: Chris Simms
‘An electrical cord?’
‘Possibly.’
Iona looked back at Martin, who lifted an eyebrow. ‘Not part of some sex game?’
‘She was fully clothed,’ Reed replied.
Iona was desperate to sneak a peek in the girl’s room. ‘Any sign of a laptop?’
The CSM shook his head.
‘A carry case? Any type of computer equipment?’
He beckoned her over. ‘See the desk by the bed? There’s a printer there. I’d say that was her workstation. No computer, though.’
Iona’s eyes strayed to the female form on the bed. Red hair was spread out across the pillow. ‘She wasn’t dressed by whoever did this?’
‘I doubt it very much.’
‘And you found her lying on the bedcovers?’
‘That’s correct.’
Another figure in a white suit was scraping at the fingernails of her left hand. Among the posters on her wall was one of Daniel Craig as James Bond. Another of Emeli Sandé on stage. Next to that, a tour poster for Adele. The sort of things I’d have chosen, Iona thought sadly.
‘OK, thanks for your help,’ Martin said from behind her.
Halfway down the stairs, she muttered under her breath, ‘I reckon that’s number three.’
‘Different MO to the others,’ Martin shot back. ‘No hammer, for a start.’
‘True.’
They looked into the front room. A lad of about nineteen was on the sofa, face like a ghost’s. There was a girl on the chair in the corner also looking shell-shocked and vacant. The officer talking to the male student paused from taking notes and glanced up as Iona produced her ID.
‘Sorry to interrupt, here,’ she announced in a gentle but firm voice. ‘May I jump in with a question or two?’
The officer looked seriously pissed off. ‘Be my guest.’
Iona nodded her thanks and crouched before the bloke. ‘I’m Detective Constable Khan. And you are?’
‘James Balfour.’
‘You live here, too, James?’
He nodded meekly.
‘Which room is yours?’
‘Far end of the corridor, upstairs.’
‘And the room with the Liverpool sticker at the top of the stairs?’
‘Craig. He’s at the Learning Commons. Phone’s turned off.’
Iona pointed to the ground-floor room she’d spotted on the way down the stairs. ‘And that one?’
He nodded at the girl in the corner. ‘Pippa.’
Next, she pointed at the empty cardboard boxes of beer bottles. Surely not a normal week’s worth. ‘Party?’
‘Yes. Last night.’
‘A houseful, was it?’
He hunched a shoulder. ‘Fifteen, twenty. A few more swung by after closing time. It wasn’t full on, or anything.’
‘Did you know everyone who turned up?’
‘More or less. I told him.’ He glanced at the uniformed officer who now stood with folded arms and a look of impatience. ‘A few friends of friends, but no strangers.’
‘Was Teresa with anyone, up in her room?’
‘No. We were all doing shots. She doesn’t normally join in and they took her legs away. She bailed out around half one, I reckon.’
‘She went to bed at about half one on her own?’
‘Yes.’
‘You saw her go up the stairs to bed on her own?’
‘Well, I didn’t stand at the bottom and watch. But she certainly set off alone.’
Martin edged closer. ‘What was Teresa like? Shy, extrovert?’
For a second, James looked on the verge of tears. ‘She was a real laugh. Everyone liked her.’
‘Bit of a party girl, then?’
Sensing where he was going, Iona tried to throw him a cautionary glance.
‘Yeah,’ James said quietly. ‘She was.’
Martin nodded. ‘Did she like the lads? Was that part of it when she partied?’
James looked shocked. ‘No! Back in Dublin, she’s got a boyfr— Oh, Jesus, who’s going to tell him? He was here last weekend, oh, Jesus.’
Iona crouched before him. ‘James? That will be taken care of, don’t worry. It will be done sensitively. You know the best way you can help with Teresa?’
He looked at her with moist eyes.
‘Think through who was at the party—’
The uniform gave his notebook a little shake. ‘I was in the process of compiling a list of guests.’
Iona stood up and stepped back. ‘Great, I’ll let you get on. Sorry to interrupt. Just one more thing. James, did Teresa make any purchases recently?’
‘What kind?’
‘Did she mention picking up a bargain? That kind of thing.’
‘A second-hand laptop. She mentioned that.’
Iona gave what she hoped was a measured nod. ‘Where did she get it?’
‘Some guy was flogging them in the student union. She was really chuffed to get in there quick enough.’
‘And when did she buy this?’
‘Er, two, three days ago. She came back with it from lectures. Tuesday, it would have been.’
‘Did she say anything about the seller?’
‘Not a lot. He has a little shop further along Oxford Road. Computer stuff, I think. Not new, pre-owned.’
Pre-owned, Iona thought, horrified how a crafty marketing term had made it into this young man’s everyday language. ‘So, you say this guy had more than one for sale?’
‘Yeah, there was a second. I almost jumped on my bike to get down there, but decided there was no way it wouldn’t have been taken.’
‘James.’ She put a hand on his to ensure he was listening properly. ‘What time do you think she bought the computer?’
‘After her lectures finished. She went into the union to get some more printer paper from the shop. Came out with a Dell laptop.’
‘So this would have been …?’
‘Three-ish. She finishes at three on a Tuesday.’
‘OK, thanks, James. I’ll leave you with the officer here.’ She gave the uniform a quick glance. ‘Thanks for that.’
Dusk had fallen when they emerged from the end of the sloping driveway. A bike was rapidly approaching, the headlight wobbling as the person’s legs pumped the peddles. It swerved to a stop and a guy jumped off, cheeks red, hair all over the place. ‘What’s going on?’
Iona caught the Scouse accent. ‘Are you Craig?’
‘Yeah.’ His eyes cut to the house. ‘What’s happening?’
Iona raised her hands. ‘Get your breath, there’s no need to panic. Martin?’ She glanced at Martin who was staring at the younger man. ‘Maybe get a uniformed officer over, Martin?’
‘Sure.’
Iona kept her eyes on the student’s face. He was staring anxiously after Martin as he walked back up the drive. ‘Have we been burgled?’
‘Craig, there’s been a serious incident here. You’ll have to give us some of your time—’
‘Is it to do with that laptop?’
‘Which laptop?’
‘Teresa’s.’ Gulping air, he reached into his jacket and produced a piece of paper. ‘A copper was handing out these by the Learning Commons. It’s asking about anyone who bought a laptop recently.’
Iona saw he was holding a copy of her flyer. A day earlier, she thought, and we might have stopped this.
Once an officer had come for Craig, Iona and Martin returned to her car. Closing the door on the bustle outside, she turned to Martin. ‘Four laptops taken from CityPads. If that’s the third person who bought one, we need to find the fourth, if they’re still alive.’
Martin face was grim. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’
‘I don’t know. But, whatever it is, we’re way off the pace.’
L
iam eased the kitchen door open. The sound of the television playing became clearer. He’d been watching the man through a rear window of the house for the last twenty minutes as he’d shuffled around the ground-floor room, turning a laptop on and then plonking it half-open on the sofa before flicking the telly on, too. He scrolled through that evening’s listings, highlighting a film for recording later that evening.
Did that mean he was planning to go out? Liam decided he couldn’t afford to wait and see: Nina wanted the laptop back straightaway.
The news came on and the man sank lower on the sofa, just the top of his head now visible. There were no mirrors near the television, nothing to give the man a view of the doorway behind him.
Liam stepped carefully across the tiled floor of the kitchen, stopping in the corridor to remove the hammer from his jacket. He peeped round the TV room’s door. The room was in semi-darkness; most of the light came from the TV’s screen. It kept brightening and dimming as the camera angles switched.
The man was still on the sofa, head now tilted forward. Had he nodded off? Liam moved silently across the carpet, thinking of all the houses he’d robbed while their owners watched television in the front room, totally oblivious to his presence.
He peered down at the top of the man’s head. He’d nodded off, judging by the deep breathing. He wondered whether to just lift the laptop from the sofa and slip back out of the kitchen door. But Nina had said: no one left alive.
It had occurred to him, once or twice, where the girls they shipped out of the country ended up. Probably the same type of place they did in Britain; terraced houses on quiet city streets, flats above shops, back rooms of certain clubs.
The only buyer Nina had ever talked about was one who owned a giant yacht. A man who’d got into gas or oil when the Russian government decided to sell the industries off. But rather than spend his money on things like Premiership football clubs, this man liked to blow his cash on young girls. He had them flown out by helicopter to his floating palace. The man, Nina had once said, was willing to pay any price if the girl matched what he was looking for at that particular time. All that money and – according to Nina – the girls were never on board when he eventually returned to port.
He lifted the hammer up high. Nighty night, mate.
The man made a little snorting sound before the head of the hammer sank into the crown of his skull. He went stiff and, as Liam yanked it back up, he started to topple sideways. Liam just had time to reach over the back of the sofa and whip the laptop away.
As the man settled across the cushions, Liam looked at the words on the laptop’s case. Sony. Nina’s wasn’t a Sony, it was a Dell. Shit! He looked at the man. His deformed head was against the armrest and air was seeping from his open mouth. Liam stepped round the sofa, leaned down and saw that the man’s eyes were open. ‘Where’s the Dell? Where is it?’
The man blinked and Liam thought for a moment that he’d understood. ‘Where is it?’
No answer.
His eyelids were beginning to close and Liam slapped him hard across the face. ‘Where’s the fucking Dell?’
His head rolled forward and blood began to well up in his ear. More suddenly appeared from his nostrils and he stopped breathing.
‘Fuck.’ Liam dumped the Sony on the coffee table and searched the room, flinging open cupboard doors, pulling out drawers. A carry case was in the kitchen, next to the bin. Binto, like the other one. No Dell laptop, no leather carry case. This was a fucking disaster.
He went back into the front room to retrieve the Sony. Better to come back with something, even if it wasn’t right. As he lifted it up, the thing gave a little series of bings. Some sort of a message? Liam looked at the blank screen. The sound came again; a noise designed to attract attention. Someone was trying to get in touch. He extended a forefinger and pressed the pad. The screen came to life. In its centre was a little window.
There was a photo of an old woman in the middle of the screen. The words below read, Mum calling.
Liam wasn’t sure exactly how these Skype things worked, but he did known it was a way of talking to someone on screen. Which meant Mum was also on a computer. Did she have the Dell? The bloke had definitely bought one from Eamon Heslin. Did he give it to her?
He moved the cursor over the green phone button and clicked.
The window changed and he found himself looking at the old lady. She was staring right at him with a frown. Her voice came out of the speakers. ‘Andrew? Is that you?’
He shrank away from the screen, suddenly realizing he must be in view. There was a smaller window in the corner. The person in that one was barely visible. He realized it was him, in the semi-dark.
‘Andrew? Turn on the main light – you’re in shadow. I can hardly make you out.’
Liam’s eyes were wide. The old woman was in a flat or bedsit of some kind. He could see a couple of potted plants behind her; a photo of the dead man was on the wall.
‘Can you hear me, Andrew? I can hear your television playing in the background. Is this working?’
Unsure what he should do, Liam kept silent and didn’t move.
‘Andrew?’ She was squinting straight at him. ‘Oh, bother this thing, what’s wrong with it?’ Her hand reached out as she looked down. ‘Stupid contraption,’ she mumbled. ‘Is my sound turned off? Something is definitely not right.’
A doorbell rang. Liam’s head whipped round as the old lady looked up sharply.
‘Was that your front door? Andrew, can you hear me? Oh, this silly thing, why won’t you work?’
There was a knock. ‘Andy? Come on, mate, shift starts in fifteen. Andy!’
‘It’s no good,’ the old lady said, sounding cross. ‘I’m going to ring you.’
Liam picked the Sony off the table and made for the back door. As he stepped into the rear garden, a phone started ringing in the kitchen. He glanced through the window. Shit – he hadn’t spotted the mobile on the sill during his earlier search. He started back.
‘Andy!’ The voice again, now at the side of the house. Footsteps crunched on gravel. ‘Always bloody late. Every time.’
Liam hesitated for a moment then turned on his heel and made for the back gate, the phone continuing to ring behind him.
S
uperintendent Graham O’Dowd lowered his eyes from the ceiling and sighed. ‘Three. Three! For all we know, the fourth is dead, too. Lying in a house, at the bottom of a canal, Christ knows where. This is a nightmare!’
DCI Roebuck coughed into his curled fingers. ‘Is there a chance the fourth laptop is among the burned-out remains of Heslin’s shop?’
O’Dowd glared at him. ‘Let’s assume it’s not, Peter. We assumed Philip Young was not at risk and now we look like a bunch of prats.’
Iona dropped her eyes to the meeting room table. When members of the senior team started falling out in front of everyone, things were going really badly.