Chameleon's Shadow

tend to worry in the hours before dawn when they’re at their lowest ebb. It’s a common time for people to die.’

Acland finished writing Ben’s name and moved the rucksack into the corner. ‘I wouldn’t like that.’

‘What?’

‘Finding someone dead in bed.’

‘Then don’t take a job in a hospital or a nursing home or you’ll come across them on a regular basis.’ Jackson cupped a hand round the mobile to see the battery level. ‘Hardly anyone dies at home these days, yet most of us would rather fall asleep in our own beds than attached to drips in a sterile environment full of strangers.’

‘Maybe doctors shouldn’t strive so assiduously to keep people alive.’ He spoke the words grimly.

Jackson eyed him for a moment. ‘All people? Are you saying we should have left Ben to die in an alleyway because life-long insulin is going to cost the rest of us a fortune?’

‘No.’

‘Who, then? You?’ She removed the Cellboost from the mobile and fired it up. ‘If you’re looking for someone to blame because you’re still alive, then blame your men. They could have abandoned you in the desert and saved the medics the time and trouble of putting you back together again. Not to mention the decent dinner I might have had if you and Chalky hadn’t insisted on saving the lad upstairs.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Accepted . . . and you’re right, it’s locked.’ She gave him the pen again. ‘The IMEI number should be under the SIM card.’ She prised the casing open and removed the piece of plastic, reading aloud a series of digits. ‘Got that?’

Acland nodded. ‘How do you know how to do this?’

‘A policeman taught me.’ She moved round to the chair and switched on the computer. ‘OK, what I’m about to do next is highly illegal so if you don’t want to be involved you’d better wait outside the door.’

‘Involved in what?’

‘Me asserting that I’m the owner of this phone in order to access the master code.’ She tapped in a website address, then held out her hand for the IMEI number.

‘I’ll read it to you.’

‘Then bear in mind that everything I’m doing is being recorded on the hard drive. You’re aiding and abetting a fraudulent use of someone else’s data.’

Acland shrugged indifferently and read out the number. ‘Why would a policeman teach you to do something illegal?’

‘Daisy forgets security codes . . . including the burglar alarm.’ Jackson clicked the mouse, then leaned back while the screen worked out permutations. ‘The woman has a PhD in First World War poetry . . . can recite most of Rupert Brooke . . . but can’t hold a four-digit PIN in her head. I’ve had to learn the tricks of the trade for all the security devices in the pub. If she puts in the wrong code, nothing works.’

‘Why doesn’t she use the same code for everything?’

‘Because she’s a dipstick where mobiles are concerned. She’s had more lost or stolen than you’ve had hot dinners. If she used the same four numbers on her phone as we do on the alarm, the pub would have been stripped bare months ago. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can do this.’ She nodded at the monitor. ‘There you go. A usable master code.’ She reached for the Nokia and punched in the numbers. ‘Bingo. Let’s start with ICE.’

Acland watched over her shoulder as she went into the address book. ‘What’s ICE?’

‘In Case of Emergency. It’s the recognized site for next-of-kin details so police and paramedics don’t have to call every name in the address book.’ She read the name that appeared. ‘Belinda Atkins. That doesn’t sound very hopeful . . . it’s a London phone number.’ She put in ‘Russell’, but the only names that appeared under ‘R’ were ‘Randall’, ‘Reeve’, ‘Roddy’ and ‘Rush’.

‘Try “Atkins”?’ Acland suggested.

There were five of them: Belinda Atkins, Gerald Atkins, Kevin Atkins, Sarah Atkins, Tom Atkins. ‘So whose phone is it?’ Jackson asked. ‘It’s obviously not Belinda’s, if she’s the next of kin.’

‘Kevin’s,’ said Acland. ‘He’s the only one without a landline. All the others have two contact numbers. It’s a good way of remembering your own mobile number.’

‘Give it a go,’ she said, offering him her own phone and reading out the digits.

‘As long as you do the talking if anyone answers. I wouldn’t want to be woken at this time of night to be told about a stolen mobile.’ He pressed the ‘call’ button and the handset in Jackson’s hand started playing ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’.

Jackson killed it. ‘I know the name Kevin Atkins,’ she said slowly, ‘but I can’t think why. Where would I have heard it before?’

‘A patient?’

She shook her head. ‘Somewhere else. I’m sure I’ve seen it fairly recently, too.’ She lapsed into a brief silence. ‘Damn! It’s really bugging me.’

Acland nodded to the lit screen. ‘Try Google,’ he said.

*

Neither was prepared for the information that came up.

BBC NEWS / England / London / Third murder victim beaten to death...

The body of Kevin Atkins ...