‘Actually, it was my brother, Michael Jordan, who suggested you might be able to help me with an enquiry we’re pursuing.’
‘Oh, yes?’ The climate was getting warmer. ‘How is Michael? Is he enjoying the software?’
‘I think it’s absolutely his favourite toy,’ Carol replied.
Fraser Duncan laughed. ‘An expensive toy, Inspector. Now, what can I do for you?’
‘It’s the Vicom 3D Commander I wanted to talk to you about. In strictest confidence, you understand. We’re pursuing a major murder investigation, and one of the theories I’m looking at is that our killer might be using your software to edit his own videos, maybe even to import other material into them. That would be possible, wouldn’t it?’
‘More than possible. It would be perfectly straightforward.’
‘So, do you keep records of all your customers?’ Carol asked.
‘We do. We don’t sell all the packages direct, obviously, but anyone who buys the Commander should register their purchase with us since that gives them access to a free customer helpline and also means they get priority mailings when we develop upgrades.’ Duncan was positively expansive now. ‘Do I detect a request for access to our customer database, Inspector?’
‘You do indeed, sir. This is a murder enquiry and the information could be crucial to us. Can I stress too that it would be completely confidential? I would personally undertake to ensure that your data is removed from our system as soon as we have finished with it,’ Carol said, trying not to sound as if she was begging.
‘I don’t know,’ Duncan said hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure I like the idea of you and your colleagues hammering on the doors of my customers.’
‘It wouldn’t be like that, Mr Duncan. No way. What we would do is input the list into our Home Office Major Large Enquiry System and cross-match it against existing data. We would only act on any correlations that came up with people who are already in there.’
‘Is this the serial killer you’re after?’ Duncan asked abruptly.
What did he want to hear, Carol wondered momentarily. ‘Yes,’ she said, taking a gamble.
‘Let me call you back, Inspector. Just to make sure you are who you say you are.’
‘No problem.’ She gave him the main police switchboard number. ‘Ask them to put you through to me in the HOLMES room at Scargill Street.’
The next five minutes passed in a fever of impatience. The phone barely chirruped before Carol had it to her ear. ‘Inspector Jordan?’
‘You owe me, sis.’
‘Michael!’
‘I’ve just been telling Fraser Duncan what an honourable little person you are and despite what he’s heard about the police, he can trust you.’
‘I love you, bro. Now get off the phone and let the man talk to me!’
Within the hour, Vicom’s data was inside the HOLMES computer network, thanks to Dave Woolcott and the miracles of modern technology. Carol had passed Fraser Duncan on to him after they had agreed the ground rules for the data use, and Carol had listened uncomprehendingly to Dave’s end of a conversation which consisted of alien expressions like ‘baud rate’ and ‘ASCII files’.
Carol sat by Dave’s side as he worked on one of the terminals. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the list from Swansea of everyone within a twenty-mile radius of Bradfield who has one of these Discoveries. We’ve also got the list of names from Vicom of people who have bought their software. I hit this key, and go down this menu to this option, wild-card match, and now we sit back and let the machine talk to itself.’
For an agonizing minute, nothing happened. Then the screen cleared and a message flashed up. ‘[2] matches found. List matches?’ Dave hit the ‘y’ key and two names and addresses appeared on the screen.
1: Philip Crozier, 23 Broughton Crag, Sheffield Road, Bradfield BX4 6JB
2: Christopher Thorpe [sort criterion 1]/Angelica Thorpe [sort criterion 2], 14 Gregory Street, Moorside, Bradfield BX6 4LR
‘What does that mean?’ Carol asked, pointing to the second option.
‘The Discovery is registered to Christopher Thorpe and the software was bought by Angelica,’ Dave explained. ‘Using the wild-card option means that the machine sorted by address as well as by name. Well, Carol, you’ve got something. Whether it means anything or not, we’ll have to see.’
Penny Burgess strode over the rough, fissured limestone of Malham Pavement. The sky was the bright blue of early spring, the rough moorland grasses starting to look more green than brown. From time to time, larks shot out into the air and poured their songs into her ears. There were two occasions when Penny really came alive. One was on the trail of a hot story. The other was up on the high moorlands of the Yorkshire Dales and the Derbyshire Peak District. Out in the open air, she felt free as the skylarks, all pressure gone. No newsdesk demanding copy by an hour ago, no contacts to be appeased, no looking over her shoulder to be sure of staying ahead of her rivals. Just the sky, the moors, the extraordinary limestone landscape, and her.
For no reason, Stevie McConnell burst into her thoughts. He’d never see the sky again, never walk a moor and watch the turning of the seasons. Thank God she had the power to make sure that someone would pay for that inhuman deprivation.
Philip Crozier’s house was a narrow, terraced three-storey modern town house, the ground floor consisting mainly of an integral garage. Carol sat in the car, eyeing it up and down. ‘We going in, ma’am?’ the young detective constable in the driving seat asked.
Carol thought for a moment. Ideally, she’d wanted Tony to be with her when she interviewed the people whose names the computer had spat out. She’d tried ringing him at home. No reply. Claire said he hadn’t come into the office yet, which surprised her since he’d had a nine-thirty appointment. Carol had swung round by the house, but it looked exactly the same as it had the night before. Off having fun with his lady friend, she’d decided. Serves him right if he misses out on the showdown with Handy Andy, she thought maliciously, then immediately regretted her childishness. Failing Tony, she’d have liked to have had Don Merrick with her. But he was out pursuing other lines of enquiry that had flowed from the identification of the Discovery. The only person she could find who wasn’t urgently involved with something else was DC Morris, on the third month of his secondment to
CID.
‘We might as well see if he’s in,’ Carol said. ‘Though he’s probably at work.’
They walked up the path, Carol taking in the details of the neatly trimmed lawn and the smart paintwork. The house didn’t really fit Tony’s profile. It was more like the victims’ houses in terms of value and status, rather than the home of someone who aspired to their lifestyles. Carol pressed the bell and stepped back. They were about to give up and return to the car when Carol heard feet pounding downstairs. The door swung open to reveal a stocky black man dressed in grey sweat pants and a scarlet T-shirt, his feet bare. He couldn’t have looked more different from Terry Harding’s description. Carol’s heart sank momentarily, then she reminded herself that Crozier might not be the only person with access to his software and his Discovery. He was still worth interviewing. ‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘Mr Crozier?’
‘’S right. Who wants to know?’ His voice was relaxed, the Bradfield accent strong.
Carol produced her warrant card and introduced herself. ‘I wonder if we could come in and have a word, sir?’
‘What about?’
‘Your name has cropped up in some routine enquiries and I’d like to ask you some questions for the purposes of elimination.’
Crozier’s brows furrowed. ‘What sort of enquiries?’
‘If we could just come in, sir?’
‘No, hang on, what’s all this about? I’m trying to get some work done here.’
Morris stepped to Carol’s side. ‘There’s no need to be difficult, sir, it’s just routine.’
‘Mr Crozier isn’t being difficult, Constable,’ Carol said coolly. ‘I’d feel just the same in your shoes, sir. A car answering the description of yours has been involved in an incident, and we need to eliminate you from our investigation. We’re speaking to several other people in connection with this enquiry, sir. It won’t take long.’
‘All right then,’ Crozier sighed. ‘You’d better come in.’
They followed him up stairs carpeted in functional cord carpet into an open-plan living-room-cum-kitchen. It
