Born in a Burial Gown (35 page)

Tait didn’t answer. He drained his coffee and put another pod in the machine. ‘Sorry, I won’t sleep tonight now. May as well give myself some fuel. Can I tempt you?’

Fluke declined with a quick shake of his head.

‘We have a problem, Inspector. I haven’t accessed PNC or SLEUTH, lawfully or unlawfully. There would be no reason for me to go on either system. I manage the IT department but I do very little IT work.’

‘The computer doesn’t lie, Mr Tait.’

‘No, it doesn’t. But it doesn’t tell the truth all the time either. All it can tell you is whose log-on name was used. It can’t tell you who used the name.’

He was right, of course. All Jiao-long had was Tait’s username and password. ‘I don’t know a single cop who’d hand out their password, Mr Tait. I bet you don’t either. Apart from the fact it’s a disciplinary matter, the system’s footprints are just too good.’

Tait nodded. ‘True enough. No one hands out their passwords. Even writing them down is against regs.’ He paused as the machine finished, he picked up his full cup and turned and faced Fluke again. ‘What do you do if you can’t log on?’

It had been a while since his computer had locked him out. ‘Hasn’t happened for a few months now.’

‘But it has happened?’

Fluke nodded.

‘And what did you do?’

‘I can’t really remember. I’ll have rang IT, I suppose.’ Fluke wasn’t sure where Tait was going with this, but he had a feeling his lead was about to go bad.

‘Exactly,’ Tait said, without any hint of triumph. ‘You’ll have rung my department. Before I got there no doubt but what they’d have done is accessed your account and reset it.’

‘I suppose,’ Fluke said.

‘How many people have access to police systems in Cumbria, Inspector?’

Fluke did a quick calculation. There were thirteen hundred badged officers and nearly a thousand police staff. ‘Just shy of two and half thousand,’ he admitted.

‘Just say then, that each person needs IT help twice a year. That’s five thousand calls. What’s that a day? Fifteen or sixteen? On top of everything else we have to do,’ he said. ‘And I think that’s what I’m getting at. We can access anyone’s account. We have access to everyone’s details. We know everyone’s passwords. We have to, if we didn’t, the whole system would crash. Software develops glitches, people forget their passwords or go so long without logging on that the system resets itself. It’s bread-and-butter work for my department.’

‘So you’re saying th—’

Tait interrupted him. ‘And that’s not all, Inspector. Have you heard of a master-access level?’

Fluke shook his head. He was starting to feel foolish. He was being taught a lesson in not diving in before intel had been stress-tested.

‘A master-access level is something all systems have to have. All secure systems anyway. It means there’s one person, normally the head of IT, who has access to every part of the system. And in Cumbria, that’s me. What I’m saying is that I could’ve accessed any part of any of our systems and used anyone’s name. And that’s not all, I have access to the system’s histories. In other words, I can delete my footprints as I go along.’

Bloody Longy! Why hadn’t he told him there was more than one possible explanation?

Although to be fair, Fluke knew he’d have to accept most of the blame. Jiao-long had been up non-stop since he’d got back from China.

From what Tait had just described, he should have been the first person they ruled out. The person they came to for help. Resigned to having a mess to clean up on Monday, he said, ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Tait, I will have that coffee now.’

Tait grinned as he prepared another pod for him. ‘No harm done. I’ve been called a lot worse than a murderer since I’ve been in the chair, as you can imagine.’

Fluke said nothing. He knew children could be cruel and sometimes adults were worse. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, eventually.

‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. I’d rather help than put in a complaint, if you’ll let me.’

It was more than Fluke deserved and he knew it. ‘If not you, any ideas who?’ he asked.

He looked thoughtful. After maybe twenty seconds he said, ‘Someone in my department, unfortunately. The thing about the master-access level is that it has to be known to all the tech guys. It’s more of a departmental password than an individual one. If something is urgent, then whoever’s on duty will use it. A system reboot or a software update, that type of thing.’

‘How many people are in your department?’ Fluke asked. It was Cumbria, so it wouldn’t be a massive number.

‘No more than a dozen at any one time. They’re all vetted obviously but the system’s not foolproof. I can get a list to you first thing Monday if you want. Make a few calls.’

Fluke thought about the best way to do this. He had twelve potential suspects. Thirteen if you counted Tait, and Fluke supposed he couldn’t rule him out just yet. ‘And there’s no way to tell who’s looked using this master code thing?’

‘Sorry.’

‘So, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. I’m afraid my team’s going to have to hit your department next week, Gibson. Everyone will need to be interviewed, and interviewed hard.’

Tait shrugged. ‘Can’t be helped. If one of my lot’s dirty, I want to know.’

‘Can I send someone round to take a statement after the weekend? Save you coming in when you’re on holiday? I’m not doing it now, I’ve wasted enough of your time,’ Fluke said. He took his mobile out of his jacket but he had no signal. ‘I can probably log it now? I would need to use your landline though, there’s no reception on my mobile.’

‘Nor mine. We’re too close to Skiddaw. I don’t know of any network that gets more than one bar. I have to go all the way past the Sun Inn to get any signal at all. Price you pay to live here, I suppose. It’s okay, you send someone when you can. I’m not going anywhere,’ he said with an element of melancholy. The first Fluke had seen from him.

‘Thanks. I’ll have someone up as soon as possible, but I’ll make sure it’s convenient. And Gibson?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can call me, Avison.’ Fluke stretched out his hand and the two men shook.

Fluke stayed to finish his coffee and Tait told him that he’d been able to afford to live in Bassenthwaite because the school paid out an extortionate sum after his accident. He didn’t really have to work but liked to feel useful. They spoke about his passion for rugby and Fluke’s own passion for cricket until his stomach growled loudly. He decided that if he didn’t leave he’d miss the chef at the local pub. They shook hands again and, by way of an apology, Fluke said he’d buy him a pint when the case was finished.

The Pheasant was on the other side of the lake and as Fluke drove, he smiled. He’d been planning to arrest Tait for conspiracy to murder half an hour ago, now he was planning to meet him for a drink. He’d send Towler out to take his statement and wouldn’t be surprised if he bagged himself an invite as well. Towler loved rugby nearly as much as Tait did.

The Pheasant was quiet when he got there, but the kitchen was still open. He ordered a pint of Jennings Cumberland Ale and a game pie from the specials board. He sipped his drink and waited for his food.

‘Bollocks,’ he mumbled to himself when it arrived. He’d forgotten to order the side salad.

The drive back was even more treacherous than the journey out, and Fluke’s BMW was buffeted by strong side winds over some of the higher ground. He was intending to ring the duty officer from his car and get that evening’s interview logged but he thought better of it. He needed both hands on the wheel.

The wind hadn’t relented when he arrived home and some of the taller, thinner trees in his wood were bent almost sideways as the wind tested their roots. One of them was actually touching his cabin roof. Something for him to deal with next time he got a chance. Fluke carefully navigated his wet, muddy drive and eventually, found somewhere he felt was as safe from anywhere from falling branches. He parked up and ran to the front door, using his case file to shield his head from the heavy rain. He rang HQ as soon as the door was shut behind him.

There was no immediate answer and he filled the time scraping the congealed pasta into the bin. Eventually, it was answered. Alan Vaughn had drawn the night shift again. Fluke brought him up to date.

‘Seems anyone in that department could have done it. We’ll take Tait’s statement but I think we need to think of another way to get what we need. We can’t prove who it was through the databases, according to Tait. He’s gonna help us but he’s not back from leave for a few days.’

‘He won’t come in?’

‘To be honest, Al, he probably would have. He seems like a nice bloke. But he’s taken leave while he has these leg tingle things and I didn’t have the heart to ask him to.’

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘What’s next then, boss?’

Good question. What next? Ten hours’ sleep is what he needed. He’d settle for six. ‘Call everyone and tell them to take Sunday off. We’ll start again Monday.’ he said, ‘I’m assuming there are no hits on Dalton Cross yet?’ The name was unusual. If it was in the system, he was betting he would be the only one, although Fluke doubted it would be easily found. Someone that good didn’t leave breadcrumbs.

‘Nope, but the ballistic test on Diamond is back. As we thought, it’s a match with Farrar’s. Sowerby did the PM this afternoon and Matt got the bullet down to Manchester as a priority. The report should be with us early next week.’

No surprises there but it was reassuring that there weren’t two murderers out there.

‘Right, cheers, Al,’ he said. ‘I’m off to kip and suggest you try and get an hour or two later.’

By the time Fluke woke on Sunday morning, he’d pressed the alarm’s snooze button half a dozen times. The long hours were doing him no good and he knew his blood would extract a price at some point. He’d planned to stay in bed until noon and then go and meet Towler for Sunday lunch; a tradition they had, and one that Abi loved. She was always allowed an adult portion and whatever she ordered had better come with a Yorkshire pudding or there’d be hell to pay.

By ten o’clock, he was restless. Everyone had needed a day off, himself included, but he couldn’t help feeling that the killer was being allowed twenty-four additional hours to get away. Fluke had a shower, made a drink and got out the case file. It was raining so he sat at his kitchen table and spread out the papers.

He didn’t have the post-mortem report on Diamond but something was troubling him about the murder. It wasn’t until he stopped comparing it with Samantha’s that he knew what it was. Samantha’s had been a clean kill. She’d probably not known anything about it. At best she may have heard something the split second before the bullet shredded her brains. Diamond’s had been anything but clean. The troubling thing about both murders was the fact that they’d only been able to link them by accident. If there hadn’t been a witness, Samantha would never have been found. Her body had been too well hidden. Diamond’s hadn’t been.

With the forensic report on the bullets confirming they were after the same gun, Fluke wondered why they were so different. One was professional, one was brutal. The two together made no sense. Even if Diamond’s had been to extract information, it was completely over the top. It looked like a punishment beating but professional killers didn’t do that sort of thing. He briefly entertained the idea they were after two killers sharing one gun but that made no sense.

Okay, pretend we didn’t know about Samantha.

There’d been no attempt to hide Diamond.

Why not?

Because we were supposed to find him.

Without Samantha’s murder, what conclusions would we have jumped to about Diamond?

Given his alleged links to the criminal underworld, Fluke have probably assumed it was a drug-related murder, a warning to other Cumbrians on what to expect when the big boys are crossed. They’d have thought Diamond was finding out what it was like to swim in the big pond. No way would they have suspected a professional hit.

When he thought about the murder that way, the more he thought the crime scene had been staged. He had no doubt that Diamond had information the killer needed about Samantha’s whereabouts, but to go on to mutilate the body was mindless violence. Fluke didn’t think their killer was prone to mindless violence. Extreme violence, yes. But mindless? Without Samantha, they would have looked at Diamond’s mutilated corpse completely differently. As a way of disguising the true motivation for the murder, it was perfect.

Towler had once told him about a serial killer who’d operated in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. His victims were killed in the same way as the sectarian murders. When a Black Watch patrol caught him red-handed shooting a young Catholic in the back of the head, something didn’t quite add up. The killer was a respectable man, a dentist with a large private practice without known affiliations to any paramilitary organisation. Although it was never proven, he was suspected in the killing of a dozen young men, on both sides of the religious fence. Because of the way he dispatched his victims, no one had ever considered they were anything other than sectarian murders.

He’d been hiding in the carnage of Belfast, and Fluke wondered if their killer had been doing the same with Diamond; hiding a murder in the carnage of the drug wars.

A car pulled up and the sound of small footsteps on his front porch told him his Sunday ruminations were over. He put everything back in the file and went to greet his friend and goddaughter.

He was still feeling tired when he entered HQ on the Monday morning. Most of the team were already working. He asked Alan Vaughn when he could expect the PM report and was told later that day.

‘Has Longy taken today off?’ Fluke asked, to no one in particular as he looked round for him. Fluke had calmed down since Saturday night and he hoped he wasn’t avoiding him because of his error with Gibson Tait. The man had been awake virtually non-stop since he got back.

‘No, boss,’ Vaughn replied. ‘He went off somewhere. Said he’ll be in later.’