Inspector Stone Mysteries Volume 2 (Books 4-6)

Prologue

The gate burst inwards as it was struck by the speeding van, almost flying off its hinges with the force of the impact.

Once through the van raced across the yard before coming to a stop near the roller door that provided access to Hartwell Electrical’s warehouse. A second van skidded to a halt alongside a moment later.

The vehicles were a matched pair of white Ford Transit vans, both so dirty an observer might believe they had come from a rally race. Except for the locations of the individual mud splatters they were identical, down to the licence plates, a tactic intended to make it harder for the vehicles to be identified or traced should anyone see them and report them to the police.

Four people, three men and a woman, all of them dressed in dark clothes and wearing gloves and balaclavas, got out of the vans and assembled by the roller door.

A pair of bolt cutters was produced and the padlock securing the door quickly cut away. A siren blared the moment the door was raised, making two of the four jump in surprise, even though they had been warned to expect it. The other two showed no such alarm at the sudden noise, they simply ducked under the rising door and disappeared into the darkness of the warehouse.

Less than a minute later the noise died away and the two reappeared.

Get the doors open, the leader of the quartet ordered brusquely.

He was obeyed swiftly, and once the rear doors of the van he had driven onto the property were open he reached in to grab a pair of high-powered torches. He kept one for himself and handed the other to his number two, who immediately turned it on, chasing away the shadows with its narrow beam.

Three, you’re with Two, Four, you’re with me, One said. Referring to his colleagues by a number was a security measure he had insisted on during the planning stages of the heist, not that any of them expected to be overheard or witnessed during the raid.

The industrial estate on which Hartwell Electrical had their warehouse was patrolled by guards from a security firm. They had no cause to be concerned that the guards on duty that night were going to trouble them, though, because before going to the warehouse they had paid a visit to the portacabin the guards operated from – the guards were tied up, and would be unconscious for some hours to come.

With the guards not an issue, and the alarm silenced, the quartet got on with their business. One and Four made their way through the warehouse to the stairs that led up to the office, while Two and Three kept an eye out from the yard in case someone were to pass and take note of them.

Get the computer, One instructed his companion once he was in the office, having resorted to the simple expedient of booting open the door to gain access. Take all of it and chuck it in the back of the van. They only needed the hard drive to deny the police any surveillance footage that might help them but it was quicker, and easier, to take the whole computer than it was to dismantle it and remove the hard drive. And take anything else that looks like it might be connected to the security cameras. He was sure it was just the computer, but he didn’t want to take any chances, even if their faces were hidden and their vans had fake licence plates on.

While Four got on with that, it was a task he could manage without difficulty since it didn’t require him to know anything about computers, only how to remove cables, One searched for the delivery paperwork. He located it soon enough, and quickly found the licence number of the lorry that held the load he was after; there were three lorries in the yard, all of them filled with cargoes he could make money off, but the one he was interested in held a mix of goods that would be easiest for him to sell.

Above the hook that held the delivery paperwork was a locked cabinet. One had it open in moments and he quickly searched through the keys it held for those belonging to the lorry he was interested in. He took them down once he found them and hurried from the office, trusting Four to finish up the job of removing the computer, not that he liked to trust the younger man any more than was necessary.

All clear? he asked when he reached the loading bay.

Not a peep, Two answered, her eyes on the wrecked gates, which would have been a clear sign to anyone passing that something was going on. You got them?

J answered by holding up the keys. We’re after FR67 OST, he told her. Second lorry in by the looks of it. Come on, let’s get going. Climbing behind the wheel of the van he had driven into the yard he drove quickly over to the trio of lorries, loaded and waiting for their drivers to arrive in the morning and take them to their destinations.

It took just a few seconds to pull the van up by the lorry he was interested in, and he was out again before the second van could reach him. While Two brought the second van over, One unlocked the doors at the rear of the lorry and swung them open to reveal the pallets of electrical items he was there to steal.

Climbing up he took a knife from his pocket and, with a quick slice, dealt with the plastic that had been wrapped around the first pallet. The first thing he picked up was a Playstation 4 which he quickly dropped down to Three, who had hurried round to catch it and load it into the back of the nearest van.

A second Playstation followed, then an Xbox One, a Blu-Ray player, another Playstation and a television. By then Four arrived with the computer from the office, which he tossed casually into the back of the nearest van, and One was able to organise a chain to keep the goods moving from the lorry to the vans. Each item was stacked neatly to ensure they could fit as much as possible in, even so they ran out of space in the vans before they could unload everything from the lorry.

It annoyed One to be leaving behind so much valuable merchandise; if he could have managed it he would have driven away all three lorries, and made enough to set himself up comfortably for the rest of his life. That simply wasn’t possible, though; he had nowhere safe to store three stolen lorries, and though he had the connections to get rid of stolen goods, he didn’t have enough connections to deal with three lorry-loads of it. Criminal and corrupt he might be, incautious he wasn’t, which was why he was only taking as much as he was sure he could handle.

Working by hand it took almost an hour to fill the two vans, and the moment they were done One jumped down from the back of the lorry, which he left open – there was no point in making an effort to conceal what they had done, not when the mess they had made of the gate would tell anyone the place had been broken into. Climbing into the van he shifted into gear while Four slammed closed the rear doors, and the moment the younger man joined him he reversed away from the lorry and raced away across the yard.

A smile, hidden by his balaclava, was on One’s lips as he drove out of the yard. He estimated that he would be able to make thirty thousand pounds from his haul, and that was being conservative. It was a good night’s work.

1

The rock disappeared from sight as it arced through the darkness, becoming visible again as it struck the window. The glass shattered with a sharp, cracking sound, which was immediately drowned by the burglar alarm, whose wailing split the silence of the night.

The noise would normally have been enough to send a vandal running. The dark-clad figure who had launched the rock was a vandal with a cause, however, and wasn’t about to let himself be driven away by a bit of noise and the possibility of being arrested.

Even if he hadn’t considered arrest a small price to pay for exposing what was happening there, he wouldn’t have run from the siren. There was no-one nearby to hear the alarm, he knew that for a certainty, and it would take some time for the police, or anyone else, to respond to it.

Since he had time, and he didn’t care about being arrested – as far as he was concerned being arrested would only bring more attention to what he had done and what he was trying to do, and that was all to the good – he stayed there, throwing stone after stone at the building.

There were few windows on the ground floor but plenty on the first floor, and soon enough the ground around the building was covered in shards of glass as each stone that left his hand found a pane of glass.

Once all the windows had been broken he turned his attention to the rest of the building. The main doors were protected by steel shutters, and nothing he did shifted them, nor was he able to get the fire door open, even using the crowbar he took from the boot of his car. After a couple of minutes of trying he gave up.

As much as he wanted to get into the building and do as much damage as he could – smashing the windows just wasn’t satisfying enough for him – the effort wasn’t worth it, not when the alarm continued to disturb the night.

Frustrated he threw the crowbar into the boot and grabbed up a can of spray paint. It was bright red, a colour he considered highly appropriate under the circumstances, and it showed up well on the wall of the building as he began spraying. How graffiti artists created the images they did he couldn’t imagine; he had enough difficulty just making what he was writing legible, even though each letter was a foot tall.

It took him ten minutes to finish, by which time he had decorated the building with a dozen words which couldn’t be missed by anyone who came within a hundred feet of it.

It was time to go he decided once he was done with his graffiti. He had done all he could just then, or almost all; taking out his phone he took photos of everything he had done. He wanted a record of the action he had taken, for his own pleasure, but also for the furtherance of his goals.

Satisfied with his night’s work, if not the reason behind it, he took a last look at the fruit of his labours and then got into his car.

He had gone no more than a quarter of a mile from the trading estate when he saw, on the road that ran parallel to the one he was on, the flashing lights of the police car responding to the alarm set off by the damage he had caused. They had taken even longer to answer the alarm than he had expected.

He was tempted to turn around and head back the way he had come, so he could see the reactions of the police officers when they saw what he had done. The graffiti especially, he was sure, would get a response of some kind. He resisted the urge, however, and kept going.

2

Eric Larsson stood in front of his studio, staring at the damage that had been done. None of the damage was all that serious, it could be repaired in under a day, and the cost of it was not likely to be all that significant. Neither the repair time nor the cost were what bothered him, however, what did was the reason for the vandalism, which was made clear by the graffiti.

He ran a tired hand through his hair and fought the urge to yawn. It wasn’t easy, he had been sleeping soundly when he got the call to tell him that the burglar alarm installed at his studio had been triggered. There was only one consolation he could take from the situation just then, and that was that he had taken the call, not his wife; as distressing as the graffiti was for him to see, it would have been worse for his wife, who was a gentle soul.

That thought made him think of his models, some of whom were due at the studio during the coming day for photoshoots. He made a mental note to have them called and their shoots cancelled; he didn’t want his models upset by the stupidity, prejudice, and lack of understanding of what was most likely only one person.

Inspector Stone should be here shortly, Mr Larsson, Sergeant Wells, who was the senior of the officers who had responded to the burglar alarm, said.

Thank you. Larsson pulled his attention away from his studio, and the state it had been left in. As he became aware of other things he shivered, a reminder that he had left the house in such a rush he had forgotten to grab a jacket; short sleeves had been fine during the day, but at nearly three in the morning they just weren’t enough.

He made his way over to his car to search it for the jumper or jacket he often left in there if he got too warm during the day. His luck was not in on that occasion, however; he was going to have to continue shivering.

At least the alarm was now silent, he thought as he returned to stand next to the sergeant. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. The alarm had still been going when he arrived, and that, on top of everything else, had almost driven him round the bend. Fortunately the alarm company had been able to silence it remotely since he had been advised not to enter the property.

He wasn’t the only one to appreciate the quiet, he hadn’t missed the relief of the two uniformed officers when the wailing stopped, nor did he miss the reaction of the younger officer – he tried his best not to show what he was thinking, but Larsson saw the distaste that filled the constable when he saw the graffiti.

Larsson had been at the studio for about half an hour when the sound of an approaching car made him turn towards the road. Headlights, bright and blinding, made it impossible to see the car that was drawing near, but he assumed it was Inspector Stone’s. He was soon proved right.

Hello, Mr Larsson, Detective Inspector Nathan Stone greeted the studio owner, whom he had met while working on a previous case.

Inspector. Larsson shook the senior detective’s hand. Good of you to come. When I asked for discretion I didn’t expect them to call you out.

Nathan gave a quick smile, the best he could manage at that time of the night. It’s a coincidence, Mr Larsson, nothing more. I just happened to be on duty tonight, though seeing this. He gestured to the building. I think it’s safe to say you’re lucky I had the duty. Discretion is definitely something you need with this situation.

Larsson nodded. The damage itself is relatively minor, but the graffiti has me worried; this is clearly more than a case of kids having some fun.

You’re not kidding.

‘PERVERTS’, ‘CHILD ABUSERS’, ‘SICKOS’

Those were just a few of the words that had been spray-painted across the exterior of the building. All the words followed the same theme, and indicated that the person responsible for the vandalism – Nathan suspected it was a man, though he accepted that he could be wrong – had a definite grudge against the studio, even if that grudge wasn’t necessarily justified.

Is this the first incident like this you’ve had to deal with?

We had some problems when we first set the studio up, people thinking we were up to something dodgy with our models. It’s why we decided to move the studio out here, it’s far enough out of the way that people aren’t likely to come here to cause trouble without a good reason. That was years ago, though, Larsson said, almost a decade now, and it was never as bad as this.

Nathan had other questions to ask of Eric Larsson, but he had something more important to do first. I trust you can be relied upon to resist the urge to talk about this, he said to Sergeant Wells. The last thing Mr Larsson needs is for you to gossip about this like the old woman you are.

You know me, sir, Frank Wells was professional enough to avoid informality while a member of the public was nearby, I can be discreet when I need to be. If you tell me not to say anything, my lips are sealed.

Good. Nathan knew that Frank Wells was a good officer, and always well-meaning, despite his habit of gossiping when something he considered newsworthy happened, so he trusted that when he gave his word he would keep silent. How about...? He nodded in the direction of the constable, whose name escaped him just then. Can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?

Wells regarded the constable for a moment. He’ll keep it shut if he knows what’s good for him. He said it softly, but with enough volume to reach the constable, who was standing a short distance from the others.

Nathan accepted that, knowing his friend would make it clear to the constable, if he didn’t already know, just how important it was to be discreet, especially when discretion had been asked for.

I don’t suppose there was any sign of the perpetrator when you got here, Nathan said to his friend, certain of the answer already.

Wells shook his head. No, not a hint. Apart from the printers in building one the estate is like a ghost town, and the streets were equally dead on the way here. I don’t think we saw anyone within a mile of this place. That’s a bit unusual, even for this time of the night. Mr Larsson was already here when we arrived. He was sure Larsson had broken at least a couple of traffic laws to beat them to the trading estate, but that didn’t concern him just then. And he apparently saw no-one when he got here.

Nathan turned to the studio owner and received a nod of confirmation. How about inside the building? Could the vandal be hiding in there?

It’s possible, Wells admitted, but I don’t think he is. I checked the entrances and exits when I got here – there’s only the two of them – and there are signs he tried to force an entry, but nothing to suggest he was successful.

Stay here, sergeant, Nathan instructed. I’ll be back shortly. Georgie, come with me. He strode off with his partner, Detective Constable Ariana Georgius, in tow.

They stopped at the shutter covering the entrance to the studio, where the damage done by the vandal in his efforts to get into the building was visible. The shutters had resisted the vandal’s attack with apparent ease; scratches and other marks marred the paintwork, and there were a couple of dents, which looked to have been made by a booted foot, but there was no sign that he had come close to getting through.

Nathan gave the shutter a rattle, just to make certain it was still secure – it was – and then he stepped back.

Do you think this has anything to do with Ellen Powers’ murder? Georgie asked as she followed her superior around the outside of the building, looking for ways in. Like Nathan she was careful to avoid stepping on any of the glass shards that littered the ground, not because there was any chance that it would get through the thick soles of her shoes, but because it was evidence, and neither of them wanted to disturb it.

Only indirectly, Nathan answered his partner. I’d say this has more to do with The Rocket’s investigation, he said, referring to Detective Inspector Rowena ‘The Rocket’ Martins, and the stories printed in The Herald. Of course, that all stemmed from the murder, so you could say there’s a connection to it. He continued around the exterior of the building, surveying the damage that had been done and looking for ways into the studio. Having been there before he didn’t expect to find anything other than the fire exit at the rear of the building, so he was unsurprised when he didn’t. If you ask me, someone is unhappy with the outcome of The Rocket’s investigation.

Georgie grimaced. That’s hardly a surprise given the way the Herald has been stirring things.

The two detectives were aware of the fuss being made by the editor of the local paper regarding the Larsson Studio, and the investigation that had been conducted into both it and the way its models were treated. If the editor had believed in the stories he was running it would have been one thing, but both Nathan and Georgie, as well as many of the other officers and detectives at Branton Police Station, knew that Kelly was merely stirring and sensationalising a situation to sell papers. It wasn’t an unusual thing for a newspaper’s editor to do, but it was making things difficult for a great many people.

Stirring things. Nathan had to resist the urge to laugh. Talk about an understatement. You should hear what Collins says about Kelly and the Herald.

After about ten minutes the two detectives returned to the front of the building, where Eric Larsson, Sergeant Wells and the constable were waiting.

Anything? Larsson asked.

Nathan shook his head. It’s as Sergeant Wells said, it looks as though your vandal tried to get in and failed. There’s still the possibility that he, or she, could have got in through one of the broken windows, though. With your permission I’d like to make a check of the building to make sure it’s empty.

Sure, Larsson agreed with a tired nod. Better safe than sorry. Do you want me to open up the front door for you?

Please. Nathan didn’t bother to point out that if he didn’t there would be no way for him to get into the building. Are forensics on the way? he asked, aiming the question indiscriminately at Frank Wells and his partner, while he waited for Eric Larsson to raise the shutter and open the door.

They should be, they said they were, Wells said. I thought they’d be here by now actually. I called them before I called you. They always take their time getting anywhere, and I knew you’d want them here as soon as possible. I’ll give them another call, see where they are.

Nothing major’s happened that could have delayed them, has it? Georgie asked.

You’d probably have heard about something major before me, Wells remarked.

That’s true, Nathan agreed. If you hear anything that sounds like we might be in trouble, make sure you come running, he said as he made his way into the building, Georgie on his heels, not that he expected to encounter any trouble.

3

Nathan paused outside the door to the interview room as a yawn, his biggest yet, overtook him. He nearly spilled the two coffees he was carrying because of it, thankfully Georgie chose that moment to appear and relieve him of the drinks.

Only when he had gotten the yawn out of his system did he reach out to take hold of the door handle.

I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Larsson, he apologised as he entered the room. I had to take care of a few things. He took a seat across the table from the studio owner while Georgie took the seat next to him, setting the drinks she held in front of the two men.

Thanks. Larsson lifted the mug of coffee to his lips. He wanted the warmth of the liquid after the chill of the late night/early morning air as much as he needed the coffee to help him stay awake. Is this going to take long? he asked after he had drained half the mug.

I’ll try not to keep you any longer than necessary. Nathan sipped at his coffee. The vandalism that took place at your studio tonight appears to have been the work of someone with a grudge, both against the studio and yourself, based on the extensive graffiti. Can you think of anyone who might be responsible?

Nobody specific, Larsson said. A whole bunch of people thanks to the articles that have been in the Herald recently, but nobody I could name.

Nathan wasn’t so foolish as to think things would be as simple as all that, but he had been hopeful. Has there been any other trouble recently? Vandalism, threats, anything like that?

No vandalism, but there has been other trouble, Larsson admitted.

What sort of trouble? Nathan asked, while Georgie scribbled notes in her pad.

Phone calls, emails, posts on the websites and forums the studio runs. Larsson drained the second half of his coffee as quickly as he had the first and pushed the mug away. "We’ve always got a few crank messages, it’s the nature of the business we’re in. You have to expect it and deal with it, and we have. Nearly all of them amount to nothing, they’re just people sounding off over the anonymity of the internet, and the few that seem more serious we pass on to our lawyer, he deals with them however he feels appropriate.

Since the murder of Ellen Powers, though, and especially since Inspector Martins began her investigation and the Herald started writing its stories, there has been a large increase in the number of messages we receive. Some of them have been vile and upsetting. We’ve lost our secretary over this situation, and I’ve had to stop my wife and children handling any incoming communications regarding the studio. We’ve lost a number of our models as well, and if things don’t change soon, it’s likely that we’ll have to shut the studio before it goes bankrupt. He exhaled a bitter sigh. We’ve been cleared of any involvement with Ellen’s murder, and with the allegations the Herald fabricated. None of that seems to matter, though. The Herald is still printing its stories, and no-one seems to believe the outcome of the investigation.

Nathan let the studio boss ramble on, getting it all off his chest. It was clear it was something he needed to do, and Nathan figured he wouldn’t get much useful information from Eric Larsson until he had vented his frustrations.

Larsson continued for almost five minutes before falling silent; he had revealed little that was likely to be of use to the barely begun investigation, but at least he was calmer and not so agitated.

Can you recall, Nathan said after sending Georgie to get them all fresh coffee – he hoped she had enough sense to go upstairs to his office and get it from the pot of decent coffee he had brewed on the fancy coffee machine installed in his office by Detective Sergeant Stephen Burke, his partner before Ariana Georgius was transferred to Branton. If any of the messages you have received have threatened the action that was taken tonight?

Larsson had to think about that for a while before shaking his head. Not really. There have been plenty that said they were going to put me out of business, see me behind bars, or otherwise punished for my supposed crimes; some of them have even suggested they were going to do to me what I’ve done to the girls I’m supposed to have attacked, and that my family would suffer the same. The distaste he felt at the threats to his family was obvious in the way he wrung his hands and grimaced.

Why haven’t you informed the police before now if your life, and those of your family, has been threatened? Nathan asked. I would have thought that was the first thing you would do. Unless there was a reason for it, and he had no idea what reason could be good enough, he couldn’t understand why the matter hadn’t been brought to the attention of the police.

I have, Larsson said quickly. I told Inspector Martins about the threats when they started coming in, and I got advice from my lawyer. The inspector told me there was nothing she could do since there was nothing in any of the threats to identify who they came from. My lawyer thought she could have done more, she didn’t really seem interested in investigating the threats.

There probably wasn’t enough of a potential reward to such an investigation, Nathan thought cynically. He knew just how annoyed his fellow detective inspector was with having failed to secure herself a headline-grabbing conviction with the investigation into the studio, one which would have boosted her chances of securing another promotion on her way to senior rank.

Well you can rest assured I will investigate this thoroughly, he told Larsson. I will, however, need any copies you have of the threats you’ve received since the murder of Ellen Powers, as well as details of any incidents you can remember. It doesn’t matter how insignificant they might seem to you, there might be something in them. You might want to review whatever security arrangements you have in place as well.

You think something else might happen?

I hope not, but with someone as clearly obsessed as this person is, I wouldn’t want to guarantee anything.

4

Nathan dropped his keys into the bowl on the table and made his slow way along the passage.

As always, regardless of how busy he was, he felt far more tired at the end of a night shift than he did at the end of a day shift. On that occasion, however, he had good cause to feel tired; in addition to the vandalism at the Larsson Studio, he had had to investigate two house burglaries, an attempted burglary at a newsagent’s, and an assault which had turned out to be a case of domestic abuse.

Is that you, Nate? April called out from upstairs.

Yes, it’s me, Nathan called back. How are you? How was the flight back from Madrid? he asked of his sister, who worked as a flight attendant.

April didn’t answer until she joined her brother in the kitchen where he was setting up the coffee machine. It was about average. Most of the passengers were no problem, but there was the usual annoying few. She stifled a yawn as she tightened the belt on her dressing gown. How was work?

Nathan answered her while he finished up at the sink.

NATHAN WAS WORKING on falling asleep when his phone rang. The noise was an unwelcome intrusion, and he did his best to ignore it, hoping that whoever was calling would give up when he didn’t answer.

Unfortunately his caller was persistent, they stayed on the line and let it ring and ring. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, Nathan snaked a hand out from under the duvet to grab the phone. Without leaving the nest he had created for himself he brought it to his ear.

Whoever this is, he said irritably, you’d better have a really good reason for this call. I’ve just got to bed and I’m bloody knackered. If he thought that would get rid of his caller, he was mistaken.

Sorry, Nate, I didn’t mean to wake you.

Nathan recognised his caller’s voice and felt his annoyance lessen a little, though not a lot. If the caller had been Stephen Burke or his sister, his annoyance would have disappeared completely, neither of them was likely to call him so early without a good reason; the same could not be said for Louisa Orchard, who was apt to call simply to check up on him, without thinking about the time.

I hadn’t actually managed to get to sleep, Nathan said, stifling a yawn. Is this a social call or has something happened? He hoped it was the former because that would allow him to remain in bed.

I wish I could say it was a social call, Louisa said, a note of regret in her voice. I received an email I think you need to take a look at, it concerns the vandalism at the Larsson Studio.

What sort of email? Nathan asked. He allowed a yawn to escape him as he threw back the duvet, sure he was not going to enjoy the luxury of sleep any time soon.

You’re going to want to see it, Louisa answered unhelpfully. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.

Nathan groaned unhappily as he ended the call. Once on his feet he made for the bathroom to splash some water on his face and liven himself up, he then returned to the bedroom to get dressed before heading downstairs.

HELLO, LOUISA, APRIL greeted the journalist. Nate’s in the living room. You might need to give him a nudge, I think he’s on the verge of falling asleep.

Thanks. Louisa slipped her laptop bag off her shoulder on her way down the passage. Hi, Nate, she said as she stepped into the living room. She had to smile, Nathan was on the verge of falling asleep, as April had said, and he jerked awake with a start when she spoke, splashing coffee from the mug he was holding.

Dammit! Nathan swore when the coffee soaked through the leg of his trousers. The profanity was prompted more by annoyance than injury for the coffee had cooled significantly while he dozed. Sitting forward he set the mug down on the coffee table and brushed uselessly at the damp stain. Hi, Louisa, he said once he had recovered.

Still smiling, Louisa joined Nathan on the sofa. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump like that. Though the words were apologetic, her tone was one of amusement. How are you? Aside from damp.

Knackered, it was a busy night, but I’ll live, Nathan told her. You?

You know me, always busy, Louisa said. The website’s doing...

Sorry to interrupt, April apologised from the doorway. Can I get you a drink or anything, Louisa?

Louisa nodded appreciatively. Thanks, a coffee would be great. I haven’t long got up and my brain’s not functioning at full capacity yet.

While April left to provide the offered drink, Louisa turned her attention back to Nathan so she could finish what she had been saying. The website’s going great, I’m getting more and more visitors every day, and the ad revenue is climbing. I’m making a reasonable living now, not great, but definitely reasonable, and I’ve got people from all over sending me stuff to put up as well. If things keep going like this I’m going to have to hire an assistant to keep up with everything.

Congrats. Nathan was genuinely pleased that his friend was doing well, even if she did work in a profession he had never been keen on – journalism. He was especially pleased because the news website she had started had come about as a result of her being sacked from the Branton Herald for refusing to interview him in the aftermath of his family’s murder. I’m glad the gamble’s paying off so well. So, tell me about this email that’s keeping me from the sleep I need.

Louisa answered by taking out her laptop and booting it up. Obviously the person who sent me this is the person who vandalised the Larsson Studio last night – I take it the studio was vandalised, and this isn’t some kind of weird hoax. Why anyone would want to perpetrate such a hoax she couldn’t imagine, but she had reported on people who had done stranger things so she knew not to rule it out.

It was, and this looks to be genuine pictures of the damage and the graffiti. Nathan scrolled through the photographs attached to the email, comparing them to his memories of what he had seen when he attended the studio. You’re right, these must have been sent by the person who vandalised the studio. Thanks. He accepted the fresh mug of coffee his sister had brought him and lifted it straight to his lips. He then began reading the lengthy block of text that made up the email.

While Nathan read, Louisa sipped slowly at her coffee. Nuts, right, she said when he pushed the laptop away, signalling that he had finished. That is not the work of someone who’s firing on all cylinders.

That comment made Nathan snort with suppressed laughter. You could say that. I can think of a few other ways of putting it that aren’t as polite. His eyes returned to the signature at the bottom of the email. Where does the link take you? He didn’t want to click on it in case it caused a problem; given his lack of proficiency with computers, he could just imagine it doing something horrific, like rendering the laptop unusable.

YouTube video, Louisa answered. There isn’t much to it, just those pictures in rotation, mixed with some pictures of the studio’s models, the most provocative ones he could find I suspect, with a male voice over the top, basically reading off what it said in the email. If the text wasn’t enough to convince you the guy’s nuts, the video definitely will.

Curious, and hesitant, Nathan clicked on the link. It took a few moments for the video to start and then he was treated to an image of a teenage girl, who might or might not have been over sixteen, in a skirt and blouse that were reminiscent of a school uniform. The blouse was unbuttoned and opened enough to make it clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra, while the way she sat on the floor, with a leg cocked to one side, exposed the merest hint of underwear.

There was nothing illegal about the image, though Nathan was sure it came as close to the edge as it was safe to do.

There was no doubt that the person who had made the video wanted to grab attention, that was made clear by the ‘PERVERTED’ that had been written across the image in a font that resembled handwriting. A few seconds after the video started the voice began speaking.

THIS IS THE KIND OF perverted poses this ‘STUDIO’ is getting girls to adopt, so they can make money off twisted sickos around the world who like to look at young girls. Over the years the studio has exploited dozens of girls, girls who have been abused and sexually exploited for financial gain, and the pleasure of a worldwide community of perverts and paedophiles who are willing to pay enormous sums to satisfy their sick lusts.

As the angry voice ranted on the image changed to another of the studio’s models, also in a provocative pose.

Eric Larsson is worth millions, and lives in a luxurious house, while his models are left with psychological damage that takes years to recover from. Just six months ago one of the models, exploited by the studio after being promised money and a national, perhaps even an international, modelling career, was murdered by a member of the studio’s staff. This staff member, supposedly a respected photographer, abused the girl, Ellen Powers, got her pregnant, and then murdered her, before committing suicide to avoid being arrested.

Nathan stopped the video, which was displayed behind him on the large screen hanging on the wall of the briefing room. He saw that the video had stopped on an image of Ellen Powers, the murdered model, whose images had pushed the limits of decency further than any others, and quickly did something about that.

The video continues for about ten minutes and is filled with assorted ravings and inaccuracies, some big, some little, outright lies, threats, both legal and physical, and quite a lot of nonsensical rubbish, he told the officers who made up the team he had assembled in the briefing room. It also talks about the vandalism that was done last night, and how it is the first step in a campaign to seek revenge for the girls. I want you all to watch it at your pleasure in case you can pick up anything from it. There’s also a whole bunch of emails, forum messages and recorded phone calls that need checking out. He didn’t really expect anything to come of such work, but he knew it was always possible that one little thing, picked up by a single officer, might prove to be the thing that led them to the person responsible for the vandalism at the studio. "I’ve got the experts working on the tech side of things, they might be able to come up with something, but I want an analysis of every other aspect as well.

Stephen, he raised his voice so he could be heard in the outer office of the CID department.

A few moments were all it took for Burke to arrive in the briefing room. I’m already working my way through the stuff you sent me, he told his superior. It’s going to take me a while to finish it up, though. I’ve got my own investigation to deal with.

I know, Nathan said. I was just going to ask you to call me if anyone comes up with anything significant.

You’re not sticking around?

Nathan shook his head. I’m going back home. He was going to be almost useless for his next shift if he didn’t get some sleep, preferably at least eight hours. Somebody, he said, looking around the briefing room, needs to pay a visit to the Herald and find out why they haven’t informed us they’ve received a communication from the perpetrator of a crime, and find out if they’ve received anything else they haven’t told us about.

Are you sure he contacted the Herald? Stephen asked. He hadn’t had the time to do more than glance at everything Nathan had sent him, but he assumed there was something that at least suggested the video’s creator had been in contact with the local paper.

Nathan nodded. According to Louisa, the email she got was sent to the Herald at the same time; one email, two recipients.

5

Casually, as if they were just making their way from one place to another, Neil Stopper and Lee Harding strolled through the car park of the Brant Shopping Centre.

To anyone who noticed them, the two young men seemed to be on their way to the electrical superstore, which was the closest of the shops. The truth was something else, neither of them had any interest in the superstore, they were far more interested in cars than gadgets, and their presence in the car park at that time was related to that.

How about this one? Neil asked of his friend as they approached a dark blue Vauxhall Corsa. He was the older of the two but he invariably deferred to his friend, who was not only the more confident but also the one whose uncle paid them for the fruits of their labours.

Lee gave the car a quick once-over, then he looked around to see if there was anyone nearby to observe them. Satisfied that there was no-one close, and they weren’t in sight of a security camera, he examined the car more closely.

There was nothing special about the car, it was an everyday vehicle, but they weren’t looking for anything special. They kept clear of the fancier cars, which would have brought more attention to what they did from the police. He wandered around it, looking through the windows and checking the tires and the bodywork, before answering his friend.

It’ll do, he said finally. If it’s not good enough for the showroom it’ll do for spares. The decision made, Lee took quick action, while Neil kept a lookout.

It took just twenty seconds for Lee to get the car unlocked, and a little less time to start the engine. In under a minute he had the car out of its parking space and was making for the nearest exit. While he did that Neil headed back to where he and Lee had left their car so he could make his own exit.

Neil caught up with his friend almost before he had made it out of the shopping centre complex, and together they headed for the lock-up they used.

As per the instructions they had been given when they started working for Lee’s uncle, the lock-up was rented in a name that had no connection to Lee, his uncle, his uncle’s business, or Neil. They didn’t expect anyone, even the police, to figure out what the lock-up was used for since the owner was blessed with less than the usual amount of curiosity, and was quite happy to be paid in cash, but they were still cautious.

BURKE WAS FAR FROM happy when he was told there had been another car theft. He wanted to believe it was a random theft, easily solved, and unrelated to the ring he had so far failed to get a lead on, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

If there was one good thing about the theft, it was that it gave him a reason to get out of the office and, more importantly, away from the mass of threatening messages he was checking for Nathan. Going through the messages was a time-consuming process, especially since he had to analyse every word for anything that might provide a clue to the sender and their motives.

While his partner, Detective Constable Christian Grey, found a space for their car, Burke went to speak to the woman whose car had gone missing. Given his partner’s ability to get into trouble, he expected to hear, when Grey caught up with him, that he had been involved in an accident, and that his car now had either a large dent or a scratch, neither of which would please him.

Good morning. I take it you are Mrs Watson, Burke said upon reaching the room where the complex’s security team had put the constables who responded to the call, and the woman he assumed was the owner of the missing car. I’m Detective Sergeant Burke, he introduced himself once the clearly distressed, middle-aged woman had nodded. I’m here to find your car for you. He put aside thoughts of what his partner was doing with his car and focused on the job in hand. If you tell me about your car we’ll get a search underway, and hopefully get it back to you soon.

For a moment Mrs Watson looked as though she wanted to question his use of the word ‘soon’, but instead she said, It’s a dark blue Vauxhall, I don’t know what model it is, I’m not very good with cars, that’s my husband’s job.

That’s okay, I should be able to find out from the DVLA, Burke said reassuringly. Can you tell me the licence number of your car?

It’s B something, fifty-two, Z, something, something, Mrs Watson said after thinking about it for a moment. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.

No problem, we should be able to find that out as well. The door opened then and Burke looked round. Ah, Grey, can you go and start looking through the security footage, please. You’re looking for a dark blue Vauxhall on a fifty-two plate. He turned back to Mrs Watson then. Can you tell me where you parked your car, what time you left it, and what time you discovered it was missing?

It didn’t take Burke long to realise that Mrs Watson could tell him little of use. He took down the small amount she was able to tell him and then instructed the two constables to take Mrs Watson home in their patrol car. While they did that Burke went looking for his partner to see what he had been able to find on the security footage.

Grey gave a snort when the question was put to him. It’s going to take ages to go through all this footage properly, they’ve got dozens of cameras around the place. He waved a hand around the room he had been brought to, indicating the bank of eight monitors along one wall, each of which changed view every few seconds to show another area of the shopping complex’s large car parks, which could hold over a thousand cars.

I realise that, Chris, Burke said. But for the moment you’re only supposed to be checking the area the car was stolen from. Have you found anything there?

About half a dozen people acting suspiciously, but the footage isn’t clear enough to be sure of anything, Grey said. And as you might guess, given the luck we’ve had with this case so far, Mrs Watson chose a parking space that isn’t covered by the cameras in that area.

Burke looked incredulously at the security officers in the room; it didn’t make him feel any better that the officers looked embarrassed by what Grey had said. Why is there a black hole in the security camera coverage?

The embarrassment of the security officers increased, and it was a short while before either off them answered the question. There was a miscalculation made when the layout of the cameras was worked out, the elder of the two admitted reluctantly. They’re positioned slightly too far apart. It’s the same on all the car parks. Unfortunately, no-one realised the black holes were there until all the cameras had been positioned and the system set up, by which time the bosses decided it would be too expensive to make the changes. It’s not been a problem up to now, we’ve not had anything happen in the black holes.

You have now, Burke said, annoyed that his investigation had run into such a problem. You should probably advise your superiors of the situation, because if we can’t find who took Mrs Watson’s car and get it back your company could find itself liable for the loss. He let that sink in. We’re going to need copies of the footage from all the cameras you have on site, and copies of all your logs regarding suspicious behaviour – I assume you have one.

Of course we do, I’ll sort it out for you.

Under other circumstances Burke might have been amused by the speed with which the elder of the officers hurried from the room. At that time, though, he was more interested in trying to find something positive since he suspected Mrs Watson was the sort of person to make a fuss.

He could understand the thought processes that motivated a person to make a fuss when something happened, but it didn’t make him any happier about it. Such pressure didn’t help to solve a case, it usually just wasted time and diverted attention away from where it could actually be useful.

Have you found anything at all of use? Burke asked as he moved round behind his partner so he could look over Grey’s shoulder at the screen he was using to search through the footage from the security cameras.

I did spot someone we know. Grey manipulated the controls to bring up the relevant section of footage. After a few moments he found what he was after and paused the footage. If I’m not mistaken, and I don’t think I am, that’s Paul Veritas.

Burke leant forward so he could study the image on the screen more closely. The bald-headed man could have been anyone, but for the tattoo covering a large portion of the scalp; the lack of resolution made it hard to make out what the tattoo was of, but there weren’t that many people walking around like that.

It’s a long way from conclusive, but it does give us a reason to talk to him. If we catch him right, we might just get him to say something without realising it.

Grey grinned. That shouldn’t be too difficult, Veritas has very little idea what’s coming out of his mouth at any moment.

Maybe. Burke was non-committal, though he couldn’t help reflecting that their suspect’s name was apt – Veritas was Latin for truth, and Paul Veritas was someone who found it difficult to lie convincingly, so people always knew whether he was telling the truth.

6

Burke stopped at the peeling, red-painted front door, Grey at his side, and reached out to bang the knocker sharply, causing flakes of paint to fall away and drift to the ground.

While he waited for an answer he glanced at his partner, to be sure he was alert and ready for anything.

Paul was not likely to cause them any trouble, aside from stealing cars and driving them like he was a Formula One driver he was a peaceful person. His family was a different matter; Eileen Veritas, Paul’s mother, had a long history of drunk and disorderly arrests, as well as arrests for assault and a variety of other misdemeanours, including prostitution in her youth. Jerry Veritas, Paul’s older brother, had a similarly lengthy arrest record, covering everything from petty theft to drug-dealing to assault.

It was almost a minute before the front door flew open, and when it did the two detectives found themselves faced with the large and imposing figure of Eileen Veritas. Tall as well as overweight, Eileen Veritas filled the doorway, and looked down on the men who had disturbed her afternoon with distaste.

What d’you want? she asked without even a pretence of politeness.

The ghost of a smile touched Burke’s lips. It’s nice to see you too, Eileen. Is Paul home?

Eileen Veritas bristled, seeming to expand to fill up what little of the doorway she wasn’t already occupying. What d’you want with my baby? she demanded. As always, she gave no sign of being aware that her ‘baby’ was actually twenty-two years old, six-foot-one, fifteen stone, and decorated with multiple tattoos.

We need to ask him a few questions, Burke said. Is he home?

Eileen Veritas gave every indication that she was going to claim her younger son was not home, not that Burke had any intention of believing her, when a high, almost childish, voice sounded from behind her.

You want to talk to me, Mr Burke?

Burke had never been able to reconcile Paul Veritas’ voice with his physical appearance, they simply didn’t match. He supposed the fact that her son continued to sound like a young boy was a large part of why Eileen Veritas kept thinking of him as one. It didn’t help that he was mentally subnormal – the current politically correct phrasing – which was one of the reasons he had such difficulty lying.

Yes, Paul, Burke said, speaking over Eileen Veritas’ shoulder, which wasn’t easy. May we come in?

Of course you can. Let them in, momma, Paul told his mother, who stepped aside with only minimal hesitation.

Eileen might have provided space for the detectives to enter the house, but that hadn’t lessened her aggression. Don’t you go upsetting my baby, she said sharply as Burke and Grey squeezed past her. And don’t even think about taking him down that station of yours; you know how that place gets to him.

Burke smiled and shook his head. I wasn’t thinking of doing so, he told her. I just have a few questions to ask Paul, I won’t be taking him anywhere unless I have to. Now, I don’t want you to worry, Paul, he said when he had taken a seat in the living room, where Paul was already sitting nervously on the sofa. We just have a few questions for you.

I’m not in any trouble, am I, Mr Burke? Paul asked in a scared voice.

I hope not, Paul, Burke told him. Can you tell me where you were earlier today, around lunchtime?

For several long moments Paul said nothing as he screwed up his face in concentration. Lunchtime is midday, isn’t it, momma? he asked finally.

Grey looked curiously from Paul to his partner; his previous encounters with the car thief had been too brief to afford him the opportunity to get to know the full range of the young man’s disadvantages.

Paul has a little difficulty keeping track of time, Burke explained. He makes up for that, and his other problems, with an amazing ability with any kind of vehicle, not to mention a number of other things.

Eileen Veritas spoke up quickly to defend her son. My baby might not be book smart, like some people, but he can turn his hand to anything practical. You name it and he can fix it, and his thumb’s so green you’d think he’d dipped it in paint. She turned to Paul then. Yes, dear, lunchtime is midday.

Paul scrunched up his face again as he thought. The shops. I was at the shops at lunchtime.

Do you mean you were at the Brant Shopping Centre? Burke asked. When Paul nodded he said, What were you doing there?

I had to get something.

Next to him Burke sensed his partner’s annoyance, which he could understand, even if he didn’t appreciate it. Questioning Paul required patience, it also required a rephrasing of questions so they could be understood more easily.

What did you have to get?

What’s this all about? Eileen wanted to know before her slow-witted son could even begin to think of an answer. "And don’t fob me off, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think Paul had done something, so what is it? The sooner you get to the point, the sooner you can be told he ain’t