Indeed, though not what you’d call a successful one.
Liz waved Bagley’s observation aside. “So what was he delivering?”
“Maybe we should ask Tell,” Olly said. “I got an address.” He brought up a map of Whitechapel on his display, with the GPS pings arranged on it. “Right, so, the majority of the Optik’s pings are here. Now, given the data, I figure he’s an old geezer, which means on an average day he doesn’t go very far, right?”
“Depends on the geezer.”
“Well, the data tells the story,” Olly insisted. “And I figure he’s got to be local to Whitechapel, probably Lister or Treves House, if he was at that rally, right?”
“So far so good,” Liz said.
“I narrowed it down further, cross referenced the name with Council records, and what do we find but – voila!” He gestured, and an indicator arrow flashed over Lister House. “Marcus Tell, resident for a decade.”
Liz nodded again. “Very good. What else?”
“He’s got a debit card, a credit card, but neither have been used in a week. Not much money in his account, but there’s a lot of activity nonetheless. He keeps a minimum in the account, but he’s got more somewhere else. I haven’t found it yet.”
“Cryptocurrency?”
“Yeah, but it’s the same. Bare minimum. Like, exactly the amount you’d expect a guy like that to have. And no movement on it either. I bet he’s got another account, maybe two or three. A bit more time, and I might be able to narrow them down.”
“No. I think this is enough.” Liz studied the map. “Whoever killed Alex has probably figured out by now that they got the wrong person. Tell must have suspected that as well, which is why he’s in the wind now.”
“So, I might be able to clone his Optik data and figure out where he is now, especially if he got a new external unit. But he doesn’t have any social media which is just bizarre. Even my nan had instant messaging.”
“Not bizarre if he’s trying to hide. Social media is just handing over data that can be used to find and identify you. If he’s really in hiding, he won’t have anything like that, or if he does, it’ll be faked.”
“This bloke was somebody bad, wasn’t he?” Olly asked, hesitantly. “I mean, a bomb maker? Those don’t grow on trees.” He looked at her. “So what do you want to do?”
“We go.”
“Where?”
“Where do you think?”
“He’s probably not there anymore. I know I wouldn’t be.”
“No, but we should check it out anyway. There might be something we can use to find out where he went – or what he was doing that got him marked for death.”
“Yeah, but… Albion will be looking for us. They’re all over the streets.”
“What’s life without risk, Olly?”
“Safe?”
“Boring,” Liz corrected. “Up. You can drink your coffee on the way.”
19: Protection
Sarah sat in an espresso bar on Whitechapel High Street, near Aldgate East Station. It was located inside the eight storey White Chapel Building, and was far too spacious and clean for her liking. Sarah preferred her coffee shops small, cramped and full of homey tat. Maybe some godawful indie music playing in the background.
Artfully exposed conduits and pipework lent a glamorized industrial air, and the tastefully mismatched colour palate reminded her of a university common room. Her mocha was excellent, if lacking in personality. Hannah sat nearby, and PC Jenks as well, dressed in her civvies and nursing an English Breakfast Tea.
When Hannah had put the request in, the young constable had volunteered for bodyguard duties. Jenks was somewhat on the outs with her superiors. They weren’t quite blaming her for the theft of evidence, but Albion wanted someone’s head and it looked like the Met was going to give them hers. For that reason, among others, Sarah had been happy to accept. She liked Jenks. The constable had a bulldog tenacity she appreciated, as well as a refreshing lack of curiosity.
“Are you certain this is the place he suggested?” Sarah said, as she idly scrolled through her Optik feed. The news seemed focused on preparations for the TOAN conference, in three days’ time. Not a word about Sunday’s shooting. Someone had a vested interest in distracting the public. She hadn’t yet decided whether that was to her benefit.
Hannah, sitting behind her, said, “Yes. He wanted a public place.”
“That leads me to more questions,” Sarah replied.
“Perhaps I can give you answers,” Holden said, as he abruptly sat down opposite her. Sarah recognised him from Hannah’s description, and the information in the dossier they’d gathered on Albion.
“Mr Holden, I presume.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d meet me.” He was unshaven, wearing a rumpled suit and too much cologne, likely to hide the fact he hadn’t taken a shower. He sat down heavily, causing the chair to creak.
Sarah sipped her mocha without pleasure. “I was curious. I assume this is in reference to my request to visit the drone facilities?”
Holden smirked. “Not quite.”
“You bugged my assistant’s office,” Sarah said, mildly. “Why?”
“Right to it, then?” Holden said, after a moment’s hesitation. He ran a hand over his unshaven cheek. “Fine. I needed to know what you knew. Turns out you know sod all.”
“Oh, I know more than that – I know you’re in trouble.” Sarah sat back in her chair. “So why don’t you tell me about it?”
Holden stared at her, considering. She could practically hear the wheels in his head grinding away. Finally, he said, “I’ll need protection.”
“From whom?”
“Everyone.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Narrow it down for me.”
“Can you get me protection?” Holden insisted. “I’m not talking without some guarantee…” He looked around nervously. Spotted Jenks. Tensed.
“She’s with me,” Sarah said, softly.
Holden gave a crooked smile. “Worried about my intentions?”
“It seemed prudent, given how you threatened my assistant.”
“I didn’t threaten her,” Holden growled.
Sarah made a dismissive gesture. “What matters is why you are here now. I assume it has something to do with the shooting, given your
