The first that Isaac knew of the latest development was when he received a phone call at home. ‘Someone’s been through the office,’ Katrina said.
Isaac assumed it was someone in the hostel, but he owed it to the woman to investigate personally, rather than send a local uniform over. It took him only ten minutes to get there, as it was a Sunday and the traffic was light. He found Katrina out on the street, waiting for him.
‘Anything missing?’ Isaac asked. Apart from the worried look on her face, he had to admit that she looked well, a healthy glow on her cheeks.
‘Not that I can tell, certainly not any money, not that there was much in there anyway.’
‘One of your guests?’
‘Not a chance. It’s not that I trust them totally, but they’d be after petty cash, and besides the door is double locked and whoever opened it didn’t break it down.’
‘Anyone see anything?’
‘Unlikely. It’s the time of day when the place is empty. Those who stayed last night have gone, and tonight’s guests haven’t arrived yet. I had someone helping with the cleaning of the place, but they’d gone as well.’
Isaac and Katrina walked up to the office. It was clear that someone had looked through it, and they had been methodical. No throwing of papers on the ground, no rifling through drawers and spilling the contents on the floor. ‘The computer?’ Isaac asked.
‘They’ve not touched it, nor the cash.’
‘What were they after? What do you reckon?’ Isaac asked.
‘What you’ve already got.’
‘The notebook.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Are there any more?’
‘I’ve not seen any. Do you think Bob was killed because of it?’ Katrina asked.
‘It seems possible, although we can’t make any sense of what’s in it.’
Even though the intrusion in the office had seemed minor, Isaac phoned Gordon Windsor, asked him to get his team over to check out the room. Katrina regretted that she had made a fuss as she had work to do, and the computer would not be available, at least not until later in the day.
‘It’s better to be safe than sorry,’ Isaac said.
‘I suppose so. What about Big Greg?’
‘We’re still looking.’
***
A smile crept across the man’s face, and not for the first time. He remembered that first shower, the hot water on his body, the lathering of the soap. He had maintained his secret for a long time, but he had realised in that hostel that he needed to take direct action against those who threatened him. No more hiding away, no more sleeping under a bridge and eating scraps from a bin. There was money, he intended to use it. The case that he had taken into the hostel contained all that he needed. He had hidden it well for many years, and the clothes would suffice, although they smelt musty. He’d wear some, dry clean the others, and then swap until the process was complete.
He remembered walking into the barber’s shop. ‘Take it all off, trim the beard,’ he had said. Those who had threatened him and his family would remember a man with a full head of fair-coloured hair, clean-shaven and a fastidious dresser in a suit. Now his hair would be cropped short and he would be dressed casually: a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, a comfortable jacket, and Adidas footwear.
He had walked out of that barber’s shop unrecognisable, even to his wife if she encountered him, which she may well do if he was to protect her. He knew they’d come for her, especially after he went for them, but this nightmare had to stop.
Two weeks was the maximum time he had allotted for the transformation. Every morning, Big Greg visited a gym, and every afternoon he would run for one hour, as he always had in the past. The weight he had put on, at least forty pounds, would have to go, although he knew that it would take more than a couple of weeks.
The hotel where he was staying was of a reasonable quality, and there was a laptop in his room which he had purchased new. He was adept with technology; they’d never trace his logging on, nor where he was.
There were a few days to go, and then he’d deal with those who had been the bane of his life. He would do it for his family, for his country, but mainly for himself. It felt good to be back, he knew that.
Chapter 9
There was nothing that annoyed Isaac Cook more than a murder investigation that had stagnated, and the current case was par for the course. Yet again, a murder, a murderer and then nothing.
Apart from Katrina Ireland’s encounter with Big Greg, there had been no further leads. It was known the man had moved south of the city after leaving her on the bench, as a witness had attested to seeing him shuffling along in that general direction, and then no more.
At least the situation was different to previous murder investigations in that the body count was not accumulating: this time there was only the death of Bob Robertson. The one advantage: Commissioner Davies had no reason to pressure DCS Goddard to pressure Isaac. In previous cases, the distraction of fending off criticism and maintaining his position as well as protecting his team had only hampered the investigation. Sure, criticism was always there, that was part of the deal when working for a large organisation, and if it’s constructive, then there’s always something to be gained, but with the commissioner and his lackey, Goddard, it was
