Settled Blood (27 page)

‘No. He works alone, along the corridor. We passed it on the way in.’

The air was suddenly charged with electricity. Daniels looked at Gormley with hope in her eyes. If his expression was anything to go by, they were both thinking the same thing. Freek could be
guilty of a number of offences, some of them even more serious than administering a noxious substance to Carmichael: ABH, living off immoral earnings, the abduction of Jessica Finch, murder of Amy
Grainger – all or none of the above.

‘I could show you, if you like,’ Conway volunteered.

‘We’d appreciate that,’ Gormley said. ‘It’s rare to get this level of cooperation.’

‘Oh, I can’t give you access,’ Conway backtracked, suddenly becoming defensive. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have that much clout. But I’m happy to show you
where he hangs out.’

‘That’s not good enough,’ Gormley bit back, disappointed now.

Daniels couldn’t help wishing they were dealing with Maria Wilson, Jessica’s personal tutor, the bubbly woman who’d been so keen to assist with their enquiries.
If
there’s anything we can do, anything at all, just ask
, she’d said,
and meant it
. Showing her frustration with a sigh, she thought of lying to Conway, telling her they already
had authorization, but that wouldn’t work. Devoid of a better idea, she glanced at Gormley for inspiration. He pulled his chair a little closer to Patricia Conway’s desk, placed his
elbows on it and clasped his hands in front of him, looking deep into her eyes. She probably thought he was going to say something nice, pander to her better nature.

She was wrong.

‘Thing is,’he began,‘we’re investigating a very serious matter here and we really could do with your help. We need Freek’s details urgently and, while we appreciate
you’ll have concerns about divulging personal information, legitimate exceptions to the Data Protection Act do exist for good reason, as I’m sure you know. Exceptions that supersede all
that bollocks—’

‘He means for the prevention or detection of crime.’ Daniels cut him off before he said something they’d both regret. It wasn’t a good idea to put the woman’s back
up. They weren’t going to get anywhere without her help. ‘I won’t lie to you. We need to examine Freek’s computer before he gets wind of the fact that we’re on to
him.’

Conway thought for a moment. Then she sat up straight, typed another command on her keyboard. ‘I need to pop out for a moment, would you excuse me, please?’

The administrator left the room.

Daniels turned the monitor round so they could view it. On the screen was a page displaying a picture of Stephen Freek: middle-aged, well-groomed, but so obviously posing for the camera. It was
him
all right and he looked like a complete twat. Underneath his photograph were all the details they were after: full name, address – which Daniels noticed was a stone’s throw
from her own – an NI number and phone numbers too. Gormley made a note of them. Then the door opened and Patricia Conway re-entered.

Daniels thanked her. ‘We won’t divulge the source of this.’

‘We’d like to see his office now,’ Gormley added.

Conway nodded.

‘Why do you dislike him so much?’ Daniels slipped the question in casually as they left the office. They turned left, walking back down the corridor towards reception. Conway
didn’t answer immediately, just lumbered along in front of them, her slack shoes flip-flopping on the lino, her tent dress wafting as she walked. Stopping short of an office a few doors down,
she reached for the handle and turned to face them.

‘Off the record?’ she said.

Both police officers answered with a nod.

‘Freek thinks he’s God’s gift to women. He’s a creepy little git who makes my skin crawl, and I’m not the only one to say so. He’s not very well liked around
here, especially, though not exclusively, among female members of staff. Are you going to tell me what this is about?’

She waited.

‘In a word, no,’ Gormley said. ‘Data protection’s a bummer, isn’t it?’

‘Very funny!’ Conway grinned at Daniels. ‘Your friend here should try stand-up.’

‘He’s not that funny.’ Daniels returned the woman’s smile. ‘We can’t tell you why we need to speak to him. But, put it this way: if he were here now,
we’d have locked him up. If we’re right about him, you’ll read about it in the newspapers soon enough.’

The comment seemed to satisfy Patricia Conway. Trying to conceal her delight, she glanced at her watch, opened the door and stood back to let them in.

‘Would you let me know when you’re finished? I’ll be in my office.’

‘Actually, I’d like you to stay.’ Daniels beckoned her inside and shut the door, blocking out the noise of passing traffic in the corridor beyond. The office was unremarkable,
except that it contained two desks but only one chair. ‘Is Freek the only person who works in here?’

Patricia Conway nodded. ‘Yes, I told you, he works alone.’

‘So nobody else has access to that –’ Daniels pointed at the computer on Freek’s desk. ‘If he shares the computer with anyone, we need to know.’

‘He doesn’t. It’s not password-protected, exactly . . .’ Conway held up the ID tag hanging on a ribbon round her neck. ‘Our system is ID sensitive, much the same as
yours, I imagine, the only exception being the System Administrator, who has the power to override an access code.’

‘And who might that be?’ Gormley asked, pen poised to record her answer.

Patricia Conway grinned.

‘C
an you do an audit trail? Tell us what he’s been looking at lately?’

They were still in Freek’s office, door locked, blinds down. Patricia Conway nodded, sat down in front of the computer and logged on. At times like this, Daniels preferred to have
Carmichael with her. She was MIT’s in-house technical expert. What she didn’t know about computers wasn’t worth knowing. Still, this woman looked like she knew a thing or two
also.

‘You think he has a virtual life as opposed to a real one?’ Patricia Conway asked. Pulling at the neck of her dress, she switched on a desk fan but it made little difference to the
heat in the room. She tapped instructions into the keyboard, then sat back reading the data on screen. ‘He doesn’t appear to have accessed any dodgy Internet sites, if that’s what
you’re after. I’ll pull up the files he’s been working on most recently.’

She closed down the page, pushed more keys and brought up a history log, enabling her to view by date: three months ago, a month ago, a week, a day. Today’s date was on the screen.
Thursday, 13 May. It was blank. Conway changed to a week’s view, but nothing on the screen rang any bells with Daniels. She hoped she wasn’t wasting precious time.

Jessica Finch was still missing.

‘That can’t be right!’ Conway was scrolling again, her eyes flitting across the screen, her brow set in a frown. ‘What the hell has he been doing? I don’t under. .
.’

Her voice trailed off.

But her concern had sent a tingle of excitement down Daniels’ spine. Something was very wrong. With Gormley looking over her shoulder, she leaned in closer, eyes firmly focused on the
screen. More specifically on a page showing several columns of names, each with a date next to it indicating when it had last been viewed on the system.

In the distance, a siren screamed.

‘They’re playing our song,’ Gormley said.

Ignoring the one-liner she’d heard a million times before, Daniels tried to make sense of the data facing her. It struck her as odd that the list was in alphabetical order, using Christian
rather than surnames. The word ‘familiarity’ popped into her head.

Conway’s eyes were like saucers as she stared at the monitor. More tapping. Different pages. It seemed to take for ever for her to look up. ‘Some of these are
second
-year
students,’ she explained. ‘He has absolutely no business looking at them! His remit is new intake only. He’s even accessed their financial status. Why on earth would he want to do
that?’

Why indeed?

A number of possibilities whirred round Daniels’ head. Was Freek sorting out the rich from the poor here? Targeting girls he could get into bed? Or was the fuckwit grooming girls from
poorer backgrounds, enticing them to make easy money to subsidize their studies? It seemed likely he had something to do with Durham’s prostitution enquiry, but she needed more proof than
this.

‘Maybe someone from within the university instructed him to access these names,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t he have been collating information to assist someone else?’

Conway’s eyes flashed. ‘No way! At least, not without clearing it with
me
first—’

‘But you said yourself you’ve been away on extended leave. Isn’t it possible he was given a task to do in your absence, one outside of his normal remit?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose, but not likely. We have floating staff whose job it is to do that sort of thing. I can easily check with the person who covered for me while I was away,
but I’m sure I’d have been told if that was the case. Otherwise he’d have got it in the neck when I carried out my next check.’

‘You check his system periodically?’ Daniels asked.

Conway nodded. ‘Certainly do.’

‘The last time being . . .?’

‘The day before I went on leave. Just over a month ago. I flew out on Easter Monday, the fifth of April. I wasn’t at work on the Friday, obviously, so my last day was Thursday the
first.’

‘And that was the day the system was last checked?’

‘
Definitely
. . .’ She pointed at the screen. ‘There’ll be a record of it in here somewhere, if you want to see it.’

‘Maybe later.’ Daniels thought for a moment. Had Freek taken the opportunity to trawl the database for information while Conway’s back was turned? Slipping off her jacket, she
pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Can you go back one calendar month, take a copy for me, then tag the students he shouldn’t have accessed in the normal course of his duties and take a
copy of that also?’

‘No problem.’

Conway did what was necessary. Seconds later, in the corner of the room, a printer burst into life. Gormley left them and walked over to it, collecting hard copies as they spilled out, face up
but the wrong way round: two files; four pages each; one tagged, one not. He turned them round so he could read them, confirming with a nod that they were what Daniels had asked for. Casually
scanning them as he made his way back, his step suddenly faltered and his eyes grew big.

‘Fu—’ He nearly swore.

‘Hank?’ Daniels leapt from her seat, her pulse racing. Grabbing the document, she speed-read to a tagged name on the first document: Amy Jennifer Grainger. Daniels’ eyes flew
down the page, to the second name with a tag against it: Bryony May Sharp. It was a eureka moment. She looked at Gormley, a lump forming in her throat. ‘I think we’ve got
him.’

Not entirely sure what they’d got him for, Conway beamed up at them proudly.

‘Warrant request, NOW!’ Daniels said. ‘Phone it through to Robbo.’

Thanking Conway, they excused themselves and left the building. Outside, Gormley walked off to find a quiet place from which to make his call. Daniels checked her watch: one forty-five. She
pulled out her phone and dialled a number, suddenly re-energized, ready for anything, a lost night’s sleep of no consequence now. Naylor answered right away. She told him what had happened
and asked him to cover the briefing at two.

‘That’s if you’re not busy, guv.’

‘Hmm . . . hold a second, Kate.’

Daniels watched Gormley sit himself down on a low wall surrounding the courtyard. She caught snippets of his telephone conversation as traffic passed by on the main road out of Durham:
extensive enquiries . . . his place of work . . . he has accessed information . . . examining a database unlawfully . . . a serious offence being investigated . . . his arrest and the search of
his premises.

Naylor was back. ‘Consider it done. I just cancelled a handover with Bright. You two been arguing again? He’s in a right strop.’

‘Nowt to do with me!’ Daniels hated lying to him, but Bright had been good to her and she couldn’t report him. She just couldn’t. This would be the last time, though.
From here on in, she told herself, her loyalty was to Naylor. No question. ‘’preciate your help, guv. I’d ask Robbo, but he’s got something else on. Hank’s dictating a
double-u as we speak.’

‘You sending the report over electronically?’

‘Yeah, by fax in the next few minutes.’

‘I’ll cross-check the names with the prostitution enquiry and get back to you.’

‘Thanks.’ A million things were going through her mind, questions she needed answers to. The most prominent of all: would they catch the bastard? ‘Guv, I need that warrant like
yesterday. Can you make sure it’s delivered to Freek’s premises as soon as it’s signed? And not in a marked car, we don’t want to lose him.’

‘Would you have suggested that to Bright?’ Naylor made like he was insulted but he was only pulling her leg. ‘I’m wounded, Kate. What d’you take me for?’

Daniels could almost hear him grinning.

F
reek lived on an elegant terrace of Georgian villas close to Jesmond Metro station. Daniels drove along slowly, checking door numbers as she went. The terrace was not as green
and leafy as it once was. Many of the gardens were now gravelled or flagged, professionals who lived there too busy to care. High-end vehicles lined the pavement, wing mirrors inverted to avoid
damage from passing traffic. Stephen Freek’s home was a converted maisonette occupying the ground floor and basement of a three-storey house. It had a separate entrance from the main
residence.
No surprise there then
, Daniels thought, as she parked across the road and turned off the ignition.

Checking the street from the car before getting out, she checked her watch: two ten. Robson should have secured the warrant by now. So where the hell was he? She pulled out her mobile and called
him, but there was no reply. Maybe he was still with the magistrate. She left a message and rang off. Returning to the Toyota, she gave a little tap on the passenger window.