to see why Kitson was already earmarked for bigger and better things. At the coffee machine, Kitson leaned down to take Thorne's cup from the dispenser. She handed the tea to him. 'I meant it, about taking the job home.' She began to feed more coins into the machine.
'Couldn't if I wanted to, there's no bloody room…'
Every window in the Incident Room was open. Bits of paper were being blown from the tops of desks and filing cabinets. Thorne sipped his tea listened to the flutter of paper, to the grunts of those bending to pick it up, and he thought how different he was from this woman. He took the job everywhere, home included, though there wasn't usually anybody there to bring it home to. He and his ex-wife Jan had divorced five years earlier, after she'd started getting distinctly extra-curricular with a Fine Arts lecturer. Thorne had had one or two 'adventures' since then, but there hadn't been anyone significant.
Kitson dropped the red-hot plastic cup into another empty one and blew across the top of her drink. 'By the way, the Remfry case?' she said. 'Is it just me, or are we getting seriously fucking nowhere?'
Thorne saw Russell Brigstocke appear on the far side of the room. He beckoned, turned and headed back in the direction of his office. Thorne took a step in the same direction, and, without looking, he answered Kitson's question.
'No, it isn't just you…'
When Russell Brigstocke was really pissed off, he had a face that could curdle milk. When he was trying to look serious, there was a hint of the melodramatic, a cocking of the head and a pursing of the lips that always made Thorne smile, much as he tried not to.
'Right, where are we, Tom?'
Thorne tried and failed not to smile. He didn't bother to hide it, deciding that a more upbeat response than the one he'd just given Yvonne Kitson might not be a bad idea anyway. 'Nothing earth shattering, but it's ticking along, sir.' It was always sir after one of Brigstocke's looks. 'We've traced most of the male relatives now. Nothing that hopeful, but we might get lucky. Spoken to most of Remfry's former cellmates and the Gribbin thing looks the most likely…'
Brigstocke nodded. 'I think it sounds promising. If someone bit half my nose off, I think I'd bear a fucking grudge.'
'Remfry said it was him that did it. Probably just larging it. Anyway, we can't find Gribbin…'
'What else?'
Thorne held up his hands. 'That's it. Apart from chasing up the computer side of it. We can start looking at the Inmate Information System as soon as Commander Jeffries reports back.'
'He has,' Brigstocke said. 'Don't get too excited…'
Stephen Jeffries was a high-ranking police officer who actually worked for HM Prison Service. As the official Police Adviser he was based at Prison Service Headquarters, in a grand-looking building off Millbank, from where he could stare directly into the offices of MI6 on the opposite side of the river.
Jeffries had been looking, quietly, into the feasibility of a leak from the Inmate Information System. If this was where the killer was getting his information from, an awful lot of people would be wanting to know how.
'Commander Jeffries has delivered an interim judgment, suggesting that as an avenue of inquiry, this would be unlikely to prove fruitful.'
'You'll have to help me,' Thorne said. 'I haven't got my 'bullshit to English' dictionary handy at the minute…'
'Don't be a twat, Tom. All right? That would really help me.'
Thorne shrugged. It sounded as if Jeffries came from the same place that shat out Chief Superintendent Trevor Jesmond. 'I'm listening.'
Brigstocke glanced down at the piece of paper on his desk, speed read a section out loud. ''Individuals with computer access to the system are based at the main HQ building as well as the twelve regional offices nationwide – London, Yorkshire, the Midlands etc.
Thorne groaned. 'We're talking hundreds of people…'
'Thousands. Checking them all out would be a major drain on manpower, even if I had it.'
Thorne nodded. 'Right. So even if that were to prove fruitful, it wouldn't be proving very fruitful very bloody quickly.' He picked up his empty tea cup from Brigstocke's desk, spun round on his chair, and took aim at the wastepaper basket in the corner.
'No,' Brigstocke said.
The paper cup missed by more than a foot. Thorne spun around again. 'What about somebody hacking into the system?'
'Bloody hell, thousands of suspects is bad enough, now you want millions…'
'I don't want them, but if the system isn't secure…'
'If that system isn't secure, a lot of people are going to get their arses severely kicked. The IIS has information on the whereabouts of every prisoner in the country, terrorists included. There's all sorts of stuff on there. If it turns out that somebody's been able to break into it, for whatever reason… Jesus, they'll be talking about Douglas Remfry in Parliament.'
'They're looking into it though?' Thorne asked.
'As far as I know…'
'They've got things that tell them, haven't they? If they've been hacked. Like alarms. If somebody's been trying to break into the system?'
'Don't ask me,' Brigstocke said. 'I can barely send a fucking e mail…'
Not long ago even doing that would have been beyond Thorne, but he'd made an effort and was starting to get to grips with the technology. He'd even bought a computer to use at home. He hadn't used it very much, yet.
'So, one thing's a drain on manpower, the other's politically sensitive. Has Commander Jeffries got any suggestions as to what we can do?'
Brigstocke took off his glasses, wiped the sweat from the frames with a handkerchief and put them back. 'No, but I have. I think there are other ways that the killer could have got the information he needed about Remfry.'
'Go on…
'What about if he got it from the victim's family? Gets his mum's name out of the phone book, rings up and says he's an old friend who wants to visit…' Thorne nodded. It was possible. 'Once he finds out where Remfry is and when he's coming out, he starts sending the letters…'
'He gets everything from Remfry's mother?'
'Remfry's mother… maybe one of the prison staff. I just think there are other things we could be looking at…'
'What's the motive, Russell?' Still the big question. 'Why was Remfry killed?'
Brigstocke puffed out his cheeks, leaned back in his chair. 'Fucked if I know. Got to be worth talking to Mrs. Remfry again though…'
Thorne couldn't see it, and yet there was something in what Brigstocke had said. Something that had caused Thorne's heart to beat faster, just for a second; but, like the face of someone in a dream, like an object he ought to recognise, glimpsed from an unfamiliar angle; it had faded away before he could see it for what it was. He was still trying to work it out when he spoke. 'I'm chasing something else up. Something with the photos…'
Brigstocke leaned forward, raised an eyebrow. I'll tell you if it comes to anything,' Thorne said. He looked at his watch. 'Fuck, I'm going to be late…'
As he was standing up, the phone began to ring in his office next door…
Holland's mobile had rung just as he was heading across to the pub, for what Was becoming something of a regular lunchtime pint. Andy Stone had given him that look. The one he'd been getting from a few of the lads, whenever the mobile rang, and they saw his face as HOME came up on caller ID.
'Shit,' Holland said.
Stone took a few steps towards the pub doorway and stopped. 'Shall I get you one in, Dave?'
Holland pressed a button on the phone and brought it to his ear. After a few seconds he caught Stone's eye and shook his head. Sophie was still crying when he walked through the door twenty minutes later.
'What's the matter?' He wrapped his arms around her, knowing what the answer would be.
