‘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 ...
Guardian Unlimited / Special reports / Murder of Kevin Atkins part of a series...
Detective Superintendent Jones, who is leading the murder inquiry, said...
The Sun Online – News: Male prostitute sought for gay killings...
Police warn gay community to be vigilant following the murder of Kevin Atkins ...
Jackson’s response was disbelief. ‘There’s no way that kid could beat anyone to death. He’s skin and bones. His sugar levels would have gone haywire the minute he started pumping adrenalin.’
Acland’s response was extreme agitation. ‘You shouldn’t have done this. I’m going to be crucified.’
Jackson clicked on the BBC news report and scanned down it. ‘The story’s four months old. More to the point is why hasn’t the server disconnected the phone?’
Acland turned away, pumping his fists violently. ‘Who cares?’
‘You might if the police come bursting through the door,’ she said. ‘They’re obviously still tracking it . . . and we’ve just given them its location.’
‘Shit!’
‘Calm down,’ Jackson said sharply. ‘It’s Ben who’s going to be in the firing line . . . not you and me. The first question they’ll ask him is how did a murdered man’s mobile get in his rucksack?’
‘He’ll say I put it there.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because I’m the obvious fall guy. I was in the alleyway with him . . . and Jones already thinks I’m involved in these murders.’
Jackson eyed him thoughtfully. ‘The kid won’t know that unless you told him.’
Acland ignored her. ‘I can’t even prove the damn thing was in his rucksack. Chalky was sitting on a wall when I found it.’ He started pacing the floor. ‘Shit! Fucking shit!’
‘You were searched at the police station,’ Jackson reminded him, ‘and you didn’t have the mobile on you then.’
He swung round in fury. ‘I’ve never had it on me,’ he snapped, ‘but it won’t stop the bastards accusing me. There’s no way they’ll believe this was chance. They’ll say Ben was stashing stuff for me . . . and our meeting was prearranged.’
Jackson allowed a pulse of silence to pass. ‘Was it?’ she asked dispassionately.
Acland came close to stamping his foot. ‘I only found out what his name was when Chalky told you.’
‘Does he know yours?’
Acland shook his head angrily, as if the question was irrelevant.
‘What about Chalky? Does he know you as anything other than lootenant?’
‘No.’
‘Then Ben will have a tough time implicating you in whatever he’s been up to,’ she said calmly. ‘If he was sick enough to go into a coma, I doubt he’ll even remember you were there . . . let alone be able to describe you.’ She closed down Windows and turned off the computer. ‘However suspicious you are of the police, they don’t usually manufacture evidence out of thin air . . . and a prearranged meeting requires some foreknowledge of the other person, such as a name or a recognizable description . . . not to mention a means of communication.’
Rather than allay Acland’s anger, this reasoned approach seemed to stoke it up. ‘Don’t patronize me,’ he warned.
‘Then use your brain,’ Jackson murmured, reaching for her medical case and lifting it on to the desk. ‘No one’s going to be interested in you. It’s the wretched kid who’ll be put through the mill . . . just as soon as he’s well enough to answer questions. Me, too, if I’ve wiped anything important off Atkins’s SIM card.’
‘You shouldn’t have interfered.’
‘Maybe not, but the guy who owned that phone was murdered, so on balance I’d say I did a good thing.’
‘You might feel differently if you’d been held for six hours.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said coolly. ‘I don’t panic as easily as you seem to do.’
Acland slammed his palms on to the desk. ‘I told you ... don’t patronize me.’
Jackson shrugged. ‘You’re not giving me much choice. If you want respect, you’d better find a way of dealing with fear that doesn’t involve throwing a tantrum.’
He thrust his face into hers. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have got in your car. Every time I trust a woman, I get fucking shafted ... and I’m sick to death of it.’
She stared back at him, unmoved. ‘If you carry on like this, I’ll start to question your actions myself. Are you going to back off . . . or do we play this charade to the end? I’m not remotely interested in bolstering your self-esteem by allowing you to intimidate me.’
Reluctantly, Acland straightened and stepped away. ‘For all I know you’ve set this up. Your lady friend did a fucking neat job of getting me arrested last time.’