Cut to the Bone (13 page)

Kate knew he was right, but she was loath to comply.

‘I’m in a rush now. But I promise I will.’

Kate’s phone buzzed as soon as she turned it on to receive calls. ‘Riley,’ she said, walking to her car.

‘Boss, I hope to fuck you are sitting down,’ said Zain.

‘What’s going on?’

‘There’s another video. Shit just got nasty.’

‘Have you sent it to me?’

‘By email,’ said Zain.

Kate put her phone on loudspeaker, settling into her car seat. She opened the email, played the video.

‘Oh, God,’ she said, jumping as it ended. ‘Get this taken down, now. I want her website offline immediately. I’m on my way to HQ.’

She was shaking as she tried to put the car in gear, her mind reeling as she headed back into London.

Ruby is on her knees. She is seen through a night-vision lens. Monochrome. Green and grey. She is no longer screaming for help. She is still. As though to move will mean death.

Her hands are tied behind her back. The camera zooms in on her face. It is streaked with dirt. Her dress is white, pure white. It is clean. She has been made to wear it. When she looks into the camera, her eyes are bright. It looks like someone has coloured them with luminous paint.

Behind her is a figure. Male, female, it’s difficult to tell.

The figure wears a jumpsuit; it is dark in colour. On their head, they wear a cloth mask, tied at the neck. On the mask is drawn a smiling mouth; there is no nose, and two holes are cut for the eyes.

The figure creeps up behind Ruby. She senses it, her eyes roll to her shoulder, but she doesn’t turn her head.

The figure bends down, says something to Ruby, staring straight into the camera. Ruby nods. The cloth face’s mouth is smiling obscenely.

The scene cuts to dark.

The lights fade up.

Ruby is still on her knees. The cloth-faced figure stands behind her. This time it is holding a gun. Holding it to Ruby’s head. Ruby’s eyes are closed; she is shaking. Her mouth is now covered with tape.

A lightning flash as the gun goes off. Blood, skull, brain fly from Ruby’s head. She slumps to the floor.

The scene fades. Letters appear on the screen. One by one.

Ruby Day. R.I.P.

They fade, replaced by more letters.

You’re Next.

PART TWO

THE INVISIBLE DEAD

Chapter Thirty-six

There was silence in the room. Five people, and no one moved, or spoke. Kate Rilcy’s team. Special Operations Executive Unit Three.

Detective Sergeant Robin Pelt. Responsible for the CSIs, CCTV, liaison with other agencies.

Detective Sergeant Stevie Brennan. In charge of Met liaison, responsible for getting boots on the ground, organising interviews, searches.

Detective Sergeant Zain Harris. Her second in command. Information and intelligence expert. Responsible for analysis, database mining, cyber expert.

Michelle Cable. IT and systems analyst. Responsible for their network, hardware, software and technical structure.

Zain was seated closest to Kate, his eyes alert. Rob next to him, red triangles in his cheeks, reflecting his mood. Stevie was seated across from them, looking away from the group.

‘We failed, then,’ said Rob.

They were in a meeting room, large plasma screen across one wall. Michelle was operating the tablet computer running the video of Ruby.

‘You’re next? What does that even mean?’ said Zain.

‘You saw it, didn’t you?’ said Stevie. ‘She’s fucking dead. And now he’s after someone else.’

‘What if she was dead all the time?’ said Rob.

‘She only disappeared last night; she’s been gone twenty-one hours,’ said Zain.

‘And Sack Face could have whacked her in an hour, made his bullshit videos, and watched and laughed while we’ve been chasing a ghost,’ said Stevie.

‘There’s no body. Shall we still treat this as murder, boss?’ said Zain.

Kate stared at the frozen frame on screen. At the white of Ruby’s dress. ‘Officially, it’s an investigation into a kidnapping, a missing young woman. Unofficially, yes, we treat this as homicide. Even without a body.’

‘Who is he warning?’ asked Stevie.

‘Until we know why Ruby was killed, I don’t think we can answer that,’ said Kate.

‘Let’s just assume Dan Grant is behind this,’ said Zain. ‘He has a bad history and he’s a possessive, sick little twat. He’d get off on this, doing this to Ruby, and then posting it where his fans could see. Threatening the ex-boyfriend.’

‘I need proof, not theory,’ said Kate. ‘Michelle, can you get me some background on the video? I want to know if you can trace it. Make sure any channels or sites that still have a link take it down. And break down the first video; get a forensic arborist or forester to have a look. See if there’s anything specific that might tie down a location. And have a look at the list MINDNET sent over. Any of those trolls make specific threats, or more importantly, any of them in the area, I want to know.’

‘I have some software you can use, Michelle. It runs an algorithm on comments. Can check for users trolling under different handles, picks up on key phrases and repeated abbreviations of words. I also have one that can cross-check IP addresses with mobile phone numbers.’

Zain’s words were met with a cold stare from Michelle Cable. Even in his first two weeks on the team, Zain had shown off his techie skills. Michelle was paranoid, and felt as though he might be judging her. Kate was aware of the tension but didn’t have time for fragile egos; she was about to head up a murder investigation.

‘Pelt, comb the Days’ flat again,’ said Kate. ‘This time look at everything, including the communal gardens. I’ll head over there with Harris and speak to the parents again, keep them out of your way for a bit.’

FLO had said the Days were a mess after the video was sent to them. Again anonymously, from the same source as before.

‘Brennan, I need you to get me manpower. Question the Days’ neighbours. Any cars seen around Little Venice around that time, see if Ruby got into any of them. Send Pelt any suspicious registration plates, get them tracked on CCTV. Start interviewing her friends again. Any anomalies, you bring them to my attention.’

There was a knock on the door. Lia Chan, one of the admins, opened the door nervously.

‘Just thought you better know, it’s hit the news and the press are going crazy. BBC just ran it on News 24, and #RubyRIP is trending on Twitter.’

Lia closed the door quickly behind her.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Stevie. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair. ‘We’re a media circus now?’

‘Let it be. It’s happening away from us. Stay fixed on what I’ve said. I’ll speak to Hope and get him to deal with them. It was only a matter of time; this was always going to happen. I would suggest our perpetrator intended this from the start. Without a ransom request, an apparent motive, I think they wanted the media involved. We can use this to our advantage, though.’

‘How?’ said Stevie.

‘We play by the rules of whoever is behind this, and make one move ahead of them.’

‘How are we going to look? No suspects, no idea where Ruby is, or exactly what’s happened to her. We know as much as those guys do,’ said Zain. ‘I say we haul Dan Grant in. Let’s just make him sweat a bit. He might be innocent, but at least we look like we’re doing something.’

‘Is that all you give a fuck about, Harris? Maybe you should be on YouTube instead. Fame whore,’ said Stevie.

‘We used to be so happy together,’ muttered Rob.

‘There’s a direct threat at the end of that video. It’s about instilling confidence in the public,’ said Zain.

‘Is that what you used to do before? Pretend there was a terror threat, haul a few bearded robe-wearers into jail, and then tell us we were all safe?’ said Stevie.

‘Why are Mummy and Daddy fighting?’ said Rob.

‘They haven’t shagged since you came along,’ said Zain.

‘Some urgency, please. I don’t want a second murder on my hands. Do any of you? Pelt, why aren’t you in CSI overalls? Brennan, where are my bodies on the ground? Michelle?’

The three of them left, Stevie narrowing her eyes at Zain as she did.

‘Don’t wind her up,’ said Kate.

‘Who?’

‘Both of them.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. Brennan has a stick up her rear, has done since I turned up,’ he said.

‘Since you turned up promoted to the role she wanted,’ said Kate.

‘She can speak to Hope about that. And yourself. You both hired me.’

‘Just be aware; she’s sensitive.’

‘And what about Cable? What’s her problem? I’m just trying to help her,’ said Zain.

‘By showing her up? How do you know she doesn’t have her own software?’

‘Because she doesn’t. I didn’t write this stuff; I just borrowed it from SO15.’

‘Give Michelle a break. This isn’t SO15. Get used to the pace.’

Kate didn’t have to say anything else; Zain should realise the implied threat.

‘Now go and make peace. I want you to spend the next half hour making calls for Brennan. Including the ones you think are beneath you. And then I want you to think of something nice to say to Michelle. Praise her skills. Even if you have to lie.’

‘Yes, boss,’ he said.

‘And have a think; who might be next, who is the video referring to? Meanwhile, I’ll go and brief Justin Hope,’ she said. ‘He’s finally hit the headlines, I’m sure he wants to know all about it so he can have his fifteen minutes.’

Chapter Thirty-seven

The Westminster Police Crime Commissioner was having bespoke offices built at Scotland Yard for his teams. Until then, they had rented out office space in Regus House, on Bressenden Place. A skyscraper, cutting twenty floors into the London sky. From the rear side, the windows looked into Buckingham Palace’s gardens.

The PCC occupied the top two floors of the building.

The uppermost floor was split in two. Exiting from the lifts, you turned left to the hub of law enforcement staff. The Special Operations Executive teams, plus a number of others under Hope’s control: Transport, Security, Diplomatic Protection, Immigration, Fraud, Business. Units like hers, manned by specialists, with an opaque agenda.

Turning right out of the lifts, you came to a section for the executive offices. Justin Hope’s plus those of Kate’s own boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Julie Trent, along with the other DCS staff and the assistant commissioner, Mark Oakden.

Kate used her electronic fob to access the executive reception area. The doors opened up to reveal two police officers, carrying Heckler & Koch MP5SFA3 semi-automatic carbines. Behind the armed women was a receptionist with patrician features and iron-grey hair, to match the steel in her eyes.

‘Deborah,’ said Kate, approaching her for the second round of formal identification. ‘Is he in?’

Deborah Scarr checked Kate’s badge, scanned her fob card again, and pressed a button that opened up inner glass doors.

‘Yes. Dreadful, isn’t it? I saw it on the news,’ said Deborah. She was whispering, which was pointless. The armed officers could hear every word, no matter how quiet she was.

Kate walked through the open doors, which glided shut behind her. The corridor that lay ahead of Kate had offices leading off it on both sides. She first tried Trent’s door, got no reply. She would have liked some moral support.

Justin Hope’s was the last door on the right. Kate knocked.

Kate felt bile rise in her throat and the heat pulse through her. It was searing, anger shooting through her brain, her heart hammering in her ribcage.

‘I appreciate your concerns, commissioner, and your desire for transparency, but I have to object. I am heading up one of the most complicated cases I have been involved in. There are scant leads or information, and my team are already under tremendous stress. We are doing our best.’

‘Tremendous stress? Interesting choice of words. Try dealing with the stress that comes from the home secretary calling, raising concerns from the prime minister.’

Hope steepled his fingers in front of his face, rested his chin on them, looked at her expectantly.

‘Not to question those in authority, but why are they so interested in Ruby Day?’ said Kate.

‘She is news. It is as simple as that. And it’s time for me to justify what we do, the funds they send our way. I am relying on you and your team.’

‘And they will deliver; exerting pressure on them will not help. It runs the risk of compromising my investigation, sir.’

‘Make sure they do deliver. All our necks are on the line with this one.’

Hope relaxed his hands, wiped them over the surface of his desk. Drawing a line under their ‘discussion’.

‘So how do we compare to Washington DC?’ he said, his voice slimy.

Kate narrowed her eyes. She didn’t mean to.

Did he know why she had to get away?

No, she must not think like that, she must not let paranoia in.

‘A sprawling metropolis with government at its heart? I think our patch is similar in some ways,’ Kate said instead.

It was like playing tennis. The way he started and stopped elements of the conversation.

‘You must trust your team?’ he said.

‘They are the best at what they do. I trust them to do their jobs without being monitored as though in kindergarten,’ said Kate. ‘You sat in on the interviews; you know what each one brings. Did any of them strike you as incompetent?’

‘How is the boy wonder getting on?’ he said.

‘Which one?’ said Kate.

‘Don’t be obtuse, you know which one.’

‘I have two detective sergeants that are male,’ she said.

‘Harris. How is he getting on?’

Why was he interested? Why him in particular?

‘Hard to be objective at this stage; this is his first case with me.’

‘Do you trust him?’

Shouldn’t I?

‘I have no reason not to,’ she said.

‘Any concerns, I want you to flag them up to me directly.’

Surely she should flag them up to Trent? As her immediate superior in the hierarchy? It was Trent’s job to inform Hope. There was a long pause as unspoken awareness of this chain of command hung between them.