Cold Courage (15 page)

Dorrie was happy to have someone notice her other than to ask for more coffee or toilet rolls.

She said that her husband had been one of the founding members of the party. He had died four years ago. Dorrie was a widow of limited means in her sixties and childless. She did not know what
else to do but come to the office. She had been coming there most days for more than ten years.

‘I don’t care much for politics,’ she said. ‘But after Lee’s death, I was away for two months, and then when I came back I realised that I felt better for it. Being involved in something does the head and the heart good.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Lia said.

Early in the evening, a heated exchange came from Gallagher’s office, making everyone raise their gaze from their work in
surprise
.

‘I’m not changing one bloody word. If you can’t accept it, go and find another party,’ Gallagher shouted.

The door flew open, and Lia saw a young man by the name of Gareth Nunn march out of Gallagher’s office. Lia had only exchanged a few words with Nunn and did not have any
connection
to him, but she noticed the other workers lowering their eyes as he fetched his coat.

‘Cheers,’ Nunn snapped, his face pale, as he stormed out the door.

Lia only had seconds to make her decision. Grabbing her own coat, she yelled to Stephen that she was going out for some air and went after Nunn.

Not particularly smooth, but I have to try something.

She caught Nunn on the street and grabbed him by the shoulder.

‘Hey, what was that all about, Gareth?’ Lia asked.

Nunn stared at her angrily.

‘What the hell business is it of yours?’

‘It isn’t really. I’ve just been wondering whether I really belong with those people either.’

Nunn eyed her, surprised at her response.

‘Do you really want to know what kind of people they are?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I do. Let’s go for coffee,’ Lia said, leading him further down the street.

After half an hour chatting with Gareth Nunn, Lia knew she had something significant.

The young man sitting with her in the café was quite impressive. Nunn had studied social policy and political science, travelled the world doing charity work and finally devoted himself to politics. Lia felt like asking how such an intelligent young scholar could get mixed up with this kind of crowd at all, but he told her himself.

‘I joined Fair Rule because our immigration policy isn’t working. Everyone can see the problems, and it’s the one thing the party is right about. But they don’t really want to solve the problems. All their political thought is about is giving the masses a false impression that someone is listening to them. Their solutions to the immigration issue are stupid, or, more like, they don’t have any solutions.’

Nunn had been looking for a conduit for formulating a new, better-managed immigration system. But his ideas were not good enough for Tom Gallagher and Arthur Fried.

‘Fried is a façade for hanging everyone’s hopes on, and he purges all attempts at deeper thought from the party’s statements. Fried tells Gallagher what the people want, and Gallagher writes it.’

They had hoped Gareth Nunn would be the party’s ideas man, and he had been able to participate with Gallagher in writing
statements
, but the two had quickly fallen out. Arthur Fried had not shown any sort of interest in Nunn.

‘They don’t even think about what they would do in Parliament if they got there. All their energy is channelled into making the party a popular movement. Riding xenophobia all the way.’

Nunn sipped the last of his already cold coffee. He said he was going to make his way home.

‘I have no intention of coming back to Epping. It’s clear now that there isn’t any place for me in this party.’

‘I understand,’ Lia said. ‘Thank you for telling me. You’ve made it easier for me to think about whether I want to go on too.’

Did Nunn have any other reasons for leaving besides differences of opinion on politics, she asked in parting.

Nunn glanced at her quickly.

‘Yes, there are other reasons. But I don’t know whether I can talk about them.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know anything for sure, but I have my suspicions.’

Lia restrained her desire to enquire further.

‘I wouldn’t recommend staying with them,’ Nunn said and left.

Lia returned to the Fair Rule office and continued making up advertisements until evening, but her brain was actually focused on trying to process everything she had just learned.

On Monday at the Studio, Lia delivered her report to Mari, who asked with interest about Gareth Nunn and the other workers in the office, especially Tom Gallagher.

‘Excellent,’ she said once Lia was finished.

In the span of just a few days, Lia had collected a lot of practical information about the party.

‘Do you want to go back?’

‘No, not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Every time I think about what those leaflets are really saying, I start getting angry.’

‘Great. It may be good for you to go back once or twice more until we figure out what Nunn meant about the party’s other problems.’

‘I was thinking that Maggie, Rico and the others could work that out.’

Lia wanted to move back to the Holborn Circus case.

Mari studied her thoughtfully.

‘Surely you don’t intend to go back to those clubs?’

‘No, definitely not.’

She would visit the supermarkets that sold foods imported from the Baltic. At least no one was going to attack her in a food shop.

‘If we don’t keep it alive, the case is going to die,’ Lia said. ‘Even the police aren’t getting anywhere.’

Mari lifted her mobile.

‘I’ll be right there with you.’

‘I know,’ Lia replied.

Lia had never previously encountered the smell that she noticed in the Ealing Slav Market. The smell was not bad, but it was pungent.

Sour and sweet. As though someone had mixed minced meat, fish and spices and pickled them in vinegar.

Lia browsed the selection on the shelves as she glanced at the other customers, who were few in number since it was the middle of the afternoon. Most were women, some clearly Eastern European. The shopkeeper was a small man with dark hair, also apparently with family roots in that corner of the world.

Picking a few tins from the shelves – Estonian sprats and Latvian fish paste – Lia attempted to strike up a conversation about them with another female customer.

‘Excuse me, but do you know what the difference is between these?’

The customer was an older woman, with dyed blonde hair.

‘That Estonian one is whole fish and very strong. The other one is a paste. Quite mild.’

‘Thanks. Do you happen to be from there, since you know so much about it?’

‘I am from Belarus. But I have lived here in England for many years now.’

Feeling emboldened, Lia jumped to her actual question. Did any Latvians come here? Did the woman know any Latvians in London?

Taken aback, the woman expressed her regrets that she was unable to help and hurried to the cash desk. When Lia followed, the shopkeeper eyed her suspiciously. Lia met his gaze unwaveringly.

‘I’m looking for an acquaintance from Latvia, a woman. Do any Latvian customers visit your shop?’

‘Perhaps. I don’t know,’ the man said.

‘It’s important that I get in contact with her. Is there any way you could help? You must know a Latvian I could ask.’

‘No, I don’t,’ the shopkeeper said. ‘This is a grocery shop, not a post office.’

With that, he motioned for her to make way for the other customers.

This is clumsy,
Lia thought as she left.
I’ll have to come up with a more workable approach.

Just one street down was a shop with a grandiose name, the Mirage Gourmet, but it was even smaller than the previous place. Behind the counter sat a Chinese-looking woman reading a
newspaper
.

‘Good day. My name is Lia Pajala. I’m doing research for my master’s thesis in marketing about customers of ethnic shops and how they make purchasing decisions. Do you mind if I interview a few of your customers?’

The cashier shrugged.

Digging out of her handbag the questionnaire she had made up at the Studio, she surveyed her prospects. An Asian man, an
English looking
woman and another, more nondescript woman.

Lia chose the last. Introducing herself, she repeated her
explanation
.

‘Are you here looking for foods from a certain area or culture?’

The woman’s gaze only flitted over Lia.

‘Russian.’

The woman pushed the survey form back.

‘I don’t want to do it.’

Lia attempted to approach another female customer, but she just said ‘No’ and turned her back.

What’s with these people?

Lia had to force herself to calm down.

They’re here shopping. They might have good reasons for not answering questions from total strangers. I’m coming across too pushy.

Lia returned to the counter and tried to engage the cashier in conversation. She asked questions about the tins of mango on the counter and the game show flickering on the television on the wall. She mentioned looking for good ingredients for a meal she was preparing for friends that evening.

The woman answered with a few grunts Lia had difficulty
understanding
.

She began losing hope. Unless she got herself a job at a shop like this, starting conversations was going to be like pulling teeth.

She had just reached the pavement from the shop when her mobile rang.

‘We have an idea,’ Mari said. ‘About Fair Rule. Can you come in?’

Two hours later, Lia was sitting on Sprowston Road in Forest Gate in the front seat of a large, grey delivery van staring at a red-brick house a hundred metres away. Next to her in the driver’s seat sat Berg, whose calm attitude gave her to understand that this was just another night.

But for Lia, it wasn’t.

They were staking out Gareth Nunn’s house. Mari’s plan was simple: they were to follow Nunn’s movements and break into his computer while he was away.

Lia liked the simplicity and directness of the plan. Not so much the illegality.

‘Of course it’s illegal,’ Mari had said. ‘It’s absolutely positively illegal in every way.’

But it was also practical, and the best way to move forward.

In the rear of the van sat Maggie and Rico. Not Mari. Of course not.

Everyone sitting in the vehicle had an assignment. Lia’s was the easiest: she was there to identify Gareth Nunn. Actually, they only needed her to confirm the identification. Rico had looked up
pictures
of Nunn online, including Facebook.

Mari had suggested that Lia could just point out Nunn and then leave while they handled the rest.

Lia didn’t want that. The thought of breaking into Nunn’s home and computer and really the whole idea of such a blatant invasion of someone’s privacy terrified her. Still, she wanted to be with them.

Lia knew she wouldn’t be able to control the situation, but it felt important to her not to leave this for others to do.

They had been waiting nearly an hour when Gareth Nunn stepped out of the house and set off up Sprowston Road.

Lia did not have to say anything. Berg had noticed Nunn and saw from her expression that the man in the grey jacket walking away from them was definitely the right one.

‘Maggie, dear,’ Berg sang out into the back of the van. ‘We have work to do.’

They sounded like an old married couple going out to do their shopping, Lia thought.

Maggie jumped out the side door, closing it and hurrying after Nunn.

Lia, Berg and Rico stayed put. They had agreed to wait until Maggie called with permission to move out.

‘Simple, old-school tradecraft,’ Mari had said about this part of the plan. All Maggie had to do was shadow Nunn as Paddy had taught her.

Paddy was not with them. They didn’t need him, Mari had explained.

The time they waited for the call felt unnervingly long to Lia, even though fewer than ten minutes actually passed. When Berg’s phone finally rang, Lia breathed a deep sigh of relief.

‘He’s ordering pizza,’ Mari reported. ‘Eating in.’

Maggie had followed Nunn into the restaurant and taken a table from which she could easily keep tabs on him.

‘You have at least twenty minutes. But I would say more like half an hour, maybe forty minutes.’

‘Thanks, dear,’ Berg said and rang off.

Gareth Nunn’s name did not appear on the door, but they were sure of the address since they had crosschecked it from several sources.

No one else was about on the stairs. Still Lia was constantly
preparing
to make a getaway. She watched nervously while Berg and Rico inspected the door to the flat, located on the ground floor.

Berg ran a small, black device along the edges of the door,
keeping
his eyes on the display.

They had researched Gareth Nunn’s background with care. He was unmarried and no other residents were registered at the address. Nothing indicated that he had so much as a domestic pet.

‘But we have no way of knowing with certainty,’ Lia had argued. ‘What if his mother or sister happens to be visiting?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough when we go into his flat,’ Mari had said dryly.

Berg nodded: the door was clear. The device display stayed dim, not registering any signals. If a burglar alarm were located in the hall of Nunn’s flat, the device would have detected its power source.

Berg pressed the doorbell.

Lia held her breath as they waited. The others were more
accustomed
to situations like this, but for her it was all was new and frightening.

If someone were to open the door, they had an explanation ready. In his dungarees, Berg was a maintenance worker doing the rounds checking on the gas cookers. Someone had complained of a small gas leak, and all the flats had to be checked. Rico was Berg’s assistant.

‘And me?’ Lia had asked.

‘You’re a passer-by, a resident of the building making her way up to her flat. All you have to do is walk up the stairs. If a conversation starts, ask what’s happened. Berg and Rico will handle the rest,’ Mari had answered.

No one came to the door, despite Berg pressing the bell several times.

They waited for another moment, listening. Not a sound. From the floor above, they could hear music, a radio, filtering through the walls, but Nunn’s flat stayed quiet.

Opening his toolbox, Berg removed a bunch of key-like metal tools and began working with the lock.

Within a minute, he had it open. Lia stared at the flat through the doorway, still expecting something to pop out at them. Berg and Rico entered the hall confidently, and Lia hurried after them.

They were inside. Five minutes had passed since Maggie rang.

In the hall, Berg took a small bag out of his toolbox. Out of it he dug thin, transparent rubber gloves and white, plastic shoe covers. They slipped the covers over their shoes and pulled the gloves onto their hands.

Like in a hospital. Ready for sterile work.

The brief shot of relief this amusing mental picture brought made Lia realise how tense she was.

They surveyed the flat’s two rooms and kitchen. Nunn was not the most organised man in the world. The sink and table in the
kitchen were full of dirty dishes. The whole flat stank of rotten food.

The bedroom was small and dark, but they were not interested in it anyway. In the living room was a wall full of books, a large sofa, two armchairs and a desk with a laptop.

Rico smiled as he sat down in the desk chair and inspected the computer.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know people still used things like this.’

Rico turned the machine on and, while he waited as it whinged into life and booted up, opened his own toolbox on the desk. In it were wires, small tools and electronic equipment Lia did not
recognise
. And a collection of memory sticks.

‘Nine minutes since Maggie rang,’ Berg announced.

‘I don’t think this will take long,’ Rico replied.

The next twenty minutes were a lesson for Lia in how
astonishingly
easily difficult-seeming things could be if someone knew what they were doing.

Of course Nunn’s computer requested a username and password. That took Rico two minutes.

Not even attempting any usernames, he simply plugged one of his memory sticks into a USB port, bringing up a window filled with lines of letters and numbers. Rico watched in satisfaction.

‘This is a hacker kit,’ he said in hushed tones as he began typing commands.

Lia stared at the words on the screen.
Acunetix Vulnerability Scanner. MD5 Cracker. MSN Freezer. MySQLi Dumper. Passstealer - Istealer. Zero Server Attacker.
Program names, she decided.

These were hacker tools: programs for breaching passwords, monitoring network traffic, scanning databases and servers, Rico explained. All hackers used them and updated versions were
distributed
online regularly.

‘The most important thing is getting to the machine,’ Rico said. ‘Once you’re there, you can get past the user security in an instant.’

And, a moment later, a familiar tune announced that Gareth Nunn’s operating system was open for business.

‘In,’ Rico said.

He looked at the folders and icons on the screen.

Lia didn’t dare speak. She feared that despite their precautions, someone would surprise them, the computer would start sounding alarms or something else unexpected would happen.

Rico selected a second memory stick, putting it in the computer and waiting for the machine to recognise it. Once it did, he started the program that would copy the contents of the hard drive onto the stick.

Three hours, twenty-eight minutes and sixteen seconds, the
program
estimated the copying operation would take.

‘It won’t be that long,’ Rico said. ‘I’d say fifteen minutes.’

The program had calculated the size of all the programs and files on the computer, but Rico had set only the emails, pictures and other web browsing information to copy – just the content that was relevant to them. The archiving program would skip everything else.

‘Will Nunn be able to see that someone has been on his machine?’ Lia asked.

‘No,’ Rico replied.

Covering up the break-in was actually more demanding than getting in in the first place. That was what separated real operators from ‘script kiddies’, ‘newbies’ who blindly used hacking tools written by others. A computer’s operating system was supposed to log everything that took place, but a professional could change the log to remove all traces of his visit. Copying the files would change their timestamp, a record of when they had last been read, but Rico could restore the timestamps as well.

While they waited, they browsed the thousands of works on the wall-covering bookcase. Nunn had amassed an impressive
collection
of books on political history, communications and psychology.

‘That’s where he puts his money,’ Lia said ‘not into computers.’

Rico made his opinion of that clear with a roll of his eyes.

Once they had tidied up after themselves and left the apartment, Berg rang Maggie.

‘No rush. He hasn’t even finished his pizza,’ she said.

They picked Maggie up from the restaurant, with Lia sitting in the rear of the van in case Nunn happened to notice the vehicle.

On their way to the Studio Lia thought about how quickly
everything
had happened. When they had made it from the flat to the street, she had almost been reeling.

But she also felt satisfaction.