Cold Courage (16 page)

As Mari had said, it had all been practical and simple. And
completely
illegal. But they had not touched anything else in Nunn’s flat, as if they had just popped round for a quick visit to his private life, politely and without leaving a mess.

In the lift up to the Studio, Lia’s satisfaction began giving way to triumph. She could have gone right back out and done it again.

The amount of information to analyse on the memory stick was considerable. Maggie and Berg left, but the remaining trio wanted to continue. Rico took the text files and Mari the emails.

‘The intimate things are probably in the pictures and browsing history,’ Rico said. Lia should take those.

Lia found porn, but just the soft variety. She did not inspect the pictures very closely, since that would have been voyeurism. The other pictures were the normal stuff: trips, parties, Nunn with his friends. He had had a couple of girlfriends in recent years. The browser traffic was largely political. Nunn had been a diligent student of what was being said about Fair Rule.

Rico found material Nunn had written for the party. Especially interesting were numerous versions of the Better Britain programme.

The first presentation had not had anything to do with defending the rights of indigenous Britons. It had been Nunn’s vision for improving the immigration system and the position of the
immigrant
community. Nunn had proposed moderate, humane changes. The latest version of Better Britain was closer to what Fried had said at the Streatham Ice Arena.

Version by version they had forced Nunn to change his text until it became something else entirely.

Mari said she could see why he wanted out.

‘It probably happens in most parties. The person who originally came up with the ideas can’t stand what they’re being twisted into.’

Reviewing the email traffic took hours.

Why was Nunn involved in the party’s finances?
Mari asked Lia in an instant message.

The email chains showed that a few months earlier Party
Secretary
Gallagher had asked Nunn to help divvy up funds for the party’s various branches and member organisations. The job was largely number crunching but also involved some serious politicking.

Soon Nunn had begun complaining to Gallagher how tired he was of arguing with the party’s pig-headed leaders. Gallagher didn’t care.

Perhaps he had intended to tire Nunn out, Mari suggested.

In order to make decisions on applications for funding, Nunn had access to copies of the party’s financial records. He had started raising questions.

There are recipients here not listed in the registers. Money
transfers
every month. To whom?
he had asked the party secretary.

Gallagher had not answered, but the next day Nunn was
informed
that he would no longer be responsible for fund distribution. He had protested angrily.
WHAT do you want me to do if I can’t even do THIS?

‘This is it,’ Mari said. ‘This is what was bothering him about Fair Rule but he didn’t want to tell you about.’

Perhaps Gallagher and Fried were slipping some of the money into their own pockets. Or maybe they were distributing money to entities they didn’t want anyone else knowing about.

‘Bloody hell,’ Lia said.

They went through everything related to financial transactions, but the results were meagre. Nothing indicated where the shadowy money transfers had gone.

‘Dead end,’ Rico said.

‘We have to get at Gallagher’s messages and the bank records,’ Mari said.

Lia stared at her, exhausted.

‘Do you want to break into Gallagher’s house?’

‘Not necessarily. You mentioned that he uses a desktop computer in the Fair Rule office. That’s probably where they distribute party funds from.’

‘Couldn’t we break in remotely?’ Lia asked Rico.

‘Not easily.’

At the least they would have to install a trojan horse on the machine first.

‘How on earth would we do that?’ Lia asked.

‘We’ll think of something,’ Mari replied.

Strange holiday, Lia thought.

She was investigating food shops that sold products from the Baltic again. As long as she was looking for a connection to Latvian women, even the tiniest scrap of information about the murdered woman, she felt like she was doing something meaningful.

She was glad to leave the Fair Rule job for Mari to stew over. Lia was interested in Arthur Fried and his party, but they were still mostly Mari’s concern.

Lia searched one grocery shop after another, falling into
conversation
with customers and chatting with shopkeepers. She varied her tactics: at times she posed as a regular customer asking about Latvia out of simple curiosity, and sometimes she was a student doing market research. But making any real contact with anyone was difficult.

Five stores were a complete wash-out. Lia did not find anything that would help her move forward. Her expectations fell.

The Eastern Buffet located in Leyton on the High Road was the largest store she had been to so far. There were customers in
abundance
, most of them Eastern European-looking women. The shelves boasted more Baltic products than in any of the previous shops. Duna bread, Magus mixed grains. Laima chocolate, Selga cookies, Dzintars make-up. Here they even stocked Baltic dairy products, whose shelf-life was relatively short.

Lia greeted a woman standing alongside her inspecting the
selection
of dried meats. Fortunately the woman did not rush away, instead praising the store’s selection and chatting openly. Lia even had a chance to ask whether the woman knew any Latvians. She was from Estonia and worked for a diplomat. She only met Latvians at official embassy receptions.

This information did not help Lia, but her mood improved.

The shopkeeper was a burly man with a broad face. He didn’t smile, but he did bother to exchange a few words with each
customer
.

At random, Lia took a jar of something from a shelf and picked up a small bottle of vodka, and then joined the queue at the checkout.

When her turn came, she placed her purchases on the counter and said, ‘I also need some information. I’m looking for a Latvian woman living in London, an old acquaintance. Do you know any of your Latvian customers?’

Glancing at Lia’s purchases, he keyed the prices into the cash register.

‘We don’t ask our customers’ nationalities,’ the shopkeeper replied.

‘Where are you from yourself?’ Lia asked to keep the
conversation
going.

He did not reply.

‘Anything else?’ he said finally.

Lia handed him a banknote and waited while he calculated the change. Then on the edge of the counter she saw a row of small combs and mirrors with a familiar pattern around their edges. Pearly white flowers.

Lia would have recognised them anywhere. She had seen pieces of exactly the same type of comb in a plastic bag on Detective Chief Inspector Gerrish’s desk.

‘And I’ll take two of those,’ Lia said, pointing at the combs and brushes.

‘One of each?’ the man grunted.

‘Yes.’

The shopkeeper took a mirror and a comb, recalculated the total again and offered Lia her change.

Moving away from the counter, Lia felt alternating waves of confusion and triumph pulsing through her.

If that woman visited this shop, someone here might know her.

Lia looked by the exit at the noticeboard filled with
advertisements
for local events. She noticed a surveillance camera high up in one corner of the room.

So many possibilities were opening up. All of them distant, Lia knew. But now there was a direction she could follow. She and Mari would not be able to access the shop CCTV camera, but the police would.

She hurried out. As she sat on the Tube, Lia held the
flower-bedecked
comb and mirror in her hands. Strange that anyone would
ship such simple objects all the way to Britain. Did the flower pattern have some special significance?

Lia had seen the same flower somewhere else. Where?

She strained to remember. She had sifted through such an enormous amount of information in the past few months. She stared at the flower pattern. Daisies.

Finally a picture from a website returned to her mind. The daisy was the national flower of Latvia.

Waiting to get to the Studio to tell Mari everything she had found was difficult.

Mari listened, holding the comb in her hand. How likely was it that the woman had got hers from that shop? It was at least possible.

‘This is an excellent find. We should almost give it to the police,’ Mari finally said.

‘What do you mean “almost”?’ Lia asked.

‘We can do that later. First we should investigate it ourselves.’

‘I could go back to the shop. Maybe I’ll meet a Latvian.’

‘What if you take a break? Maggie and I can see whether we can find out anything more about the comb or the food shop,’ Mari said. ‘I want you to go back to the Fair Rule office. Rico has come up with a way to get into Gallagher’s computer.’

Mari led Lia into the computer room.

‘It works!’ Rico announced when they appeared at the door.

‘Excellent,’ Mari said.

Rico asked Lia to log in to her email or some other webpage using her own username on one of the computers.

Lia thought for a moment and then chose Traveldame.com, a travel service where single women could find information about discounts and budget one-person accommodation. Showing Mari and Rico a more personal site would have felt strange. On the front page a slew of semi-spam messages were waiting for her, all starting with the words ‘Dear Lia’.

‘Hmm, I guess you’ve been to France a few times. The adverts are all about Paris and Loire wine tours,’ Rico said with a grin. ‘But now log back out.’

After Lia closed the website, Rico grabbed the keyboard, removed it from the machine and connected it to another computer. A moment later letters and numbers were streaming down the screen.

‘There you go,’ Rico said. ‘Lia’s username for Traveldame is
miss-finland
and her password is
nicedog44
. Lia, your password is OK, although not terribly difficult, but your username would be easy to guess.’

Lia snorted, embarrassed. There they were, lit up in pixels, her username and password.

Rico explained that he had installed an extra chip in the keyboard. Whenever someone typed, the chip recorded the keystrokes and the time they were entered. When Rico connected the keyboard to a certain program on his own machine, it regurgitated everything it had recorded, showing every message written, every password entered and every word googled.

‘Unbelievable,’ Lia said.

‘Well, a hardware key logger isn’t exactly a new idea, but I’ve added some improvements of my own. The hardest part is on the
software
side, since there can be so much text to sort through,’ Rico said.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to infect his computer with a virus or
something
?’

‘That’s a good thought, but we don’t have any way to know what security programs might be on the machine. This is much harder to detect and disable,’ Rico explained.

‘How are we going to get this connected to Gallagher’s computer?’ Lia asked.

Rico had a plan all worked out.

‘Gallagher has a standard desktop. All we have to do is swap his keyboard for another one just like it with the key logging chip installed. Then we switch the keyboards back and bingo!’

‘Sounds easy,’ Lia said. ‘But there are always people in the party offices. If someone sees me messing with Gallagher’s computer, I’ll have some explaining to do.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Mari said. ‘We’ve done replacement operations like this before.’

Lia had to get at the computer three times. First to photograph the keyboard so they could be sure of the model. She also needed
to check it for any obvious wear or other identifying marks. The second time she would swap the keyboards. And finally she would switch them back.

‘Sounds easier and easier all the time,’ Lia said. ‘Bingo.’

The campaign workers at Fair Rule were surprised when Lia turned up at the office on Sunday morning.

‘I thought you weren’t coming any more since we hadn’t seen you,’ Stephen said.

To Lia he sounded almost accusatory, but she let it go.

‘So what’s on the to-do list?’ she asked.

‘You can choose. There’s lots to get done.’

The options were an information pack destined for Ireland and advertisements for two party events. Arthur Fried had also
announced
that he wanted all the old placards redesigned.

‘We’ve only got twenty plus different ones,’ Stephen said.

‘The information pack, please,’ Lia said.

I don’t want to see posters I designed on the street pulling in votes for Arthur Fried.

Lia guessed that the party secretary would not come in until later on a Sunday morning. She guessed right.

Trying to work out how she could get in to photograph Gallagher’s keyboard, she walked back and forth past the room, glancing in at the paper-strewn desk.

Then a simple idea popped into her head.

‘Stephen, I need to make a personal call. My boyfriend and I had a fight. Is there any way I could use that back room while I ring him?’

‘Just close the door, and no one will bother you,’ Stephen said.

Lia stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Quickly taking out her mobile, she began snapping pictures of the computer keyboard. She tested each key individually, as Rico had requested. If any of them were worn or moved strangely, he would have to build the same idiosyncrasies into the substitute.

Luckily the unit was quite new, with no visible marks of wear on the keys other than the spacebar.

Lia felt calm and confident as she returned from Gallagher’s office.

‘Everything OK?’ Stephen asked.

‘Better,’ Lia said with a smile.

Rico was satisfied with the haul of photographs.

‘A basic Dell keyboard. I can have one ready by tomorrow.’

‘How do you intend to make the swap?’ Mari asked. ‘I wouldn’t recommend trying the phone trick again.’

‘I’ll come up with something,’ Lia replied.

She had to visit the Fair Rule office three times before a night came when Tom Gallagher was not on the premises. Every time she had to carry in her bag Rico’s modified keyboard with its embedded key logging chip and design new party information materials.

But she also had time to plan how to switch the keyboards. What she decided was to fall back on Dorrie.

‘The work here’s never-ending,’ Dorrie said with a sigh.

Someone had dumped food scrapings in the paper bin again. Could you really entrust political decisions to men who did not have the nous to separate their rubbish? they wondered together.

‘Dorrie, what would you say to coffee and cake?’ Lia asked. ‘I have a reason to celebrate.’

‘You sweet little dear, congratulations! What’s the occasion?’

‘Let’s keep that secret for the moment. I’d like to organise a little surprise for everyone.’

Handing her some money, Lia asked Dorrie to fetch a cake or two, leaving the exact amount up to her discretion. Dorrie collected her coat and left for the supermarket.

Lia retrieved her bag.

‘Could I have everyone’s attention for a moment?’ she asked, raising her voice.

The dozen-odd people in the office stopped to listen.

‘We’ll be having coffee and cake for everyone shortly!’

‘Hurrah! What’s the occasion?’ Stephen asked.

‘You’ll see soon enough. Just give me five minutes to prepare.’

Lia moved with her bag into Gallagher’s office. Closing the door, she set a chair in front of it. She took the keyboard out of her bag. Rico had done good work, even darkening the spacebar.

Lia switched the keyboards, hiding Gallagher’s in her bag before pulling out a roll of streamer material, colourful paper plates and paper hats. She threw streamers over the shelves, ceiling light and desk. Then she stacked the plates and set the paper hats in a row on the desk.

Cracking the door and peeping through, she saw Dorrie just returning with two cakes.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Dorrie said when she saw the decorations.

When Lia called everyone else into the back room, they were excited.

‘Well, will you tell us why we’re celebrating now?’ Stephen asked.

‘My boyfriend asked me to marry him. And I said yes!’ Lia
announced
, showing off the new ring flashing on her finger.

Shouts of jubilation ensued. Everyone wanted to congratulate Lia and Dorrie kissed her on both cheeks.

Thanking them all, she said she was in a complete whirl but happy. Stephen and the others asked all about her fiancé, and Lia recited the story she had prepared. Michael was an engineer and worked
dreadful
hours, which had made Lia hesitate at the idea of marriage. They would hold the wedding later, when the time felt right.

Merrymaking filled the back office. As she sampled her cake, Lia realised that she had not thoroughly thought through everything that would follow her made-up story.

As the others returned to work, Dorrie came to hug her one more time.

‘I just know you’ll be so happy,’ Dorrie said.

Lia remained silent as they embraced. She felt despicable.

When Mari heard the story, she was less than overjoyed.

‘You should have told me in advance. It was creative, but there are problems with it,’ Mari said.

‘What problems?’ Lia asked.

The workers at Fair Rule would now associate Lia with the party secretary’s office in their minds. The story about the engagement focused attention on Lia and her personal life. They would
remember
her. Operating without creating emotional relationships would have been better.

She’s right. Again. But it worked.

‘If I’m going to help, then I’m going to do things my own way,’ Lia said.