Closing the door to the storeroom behind her she strolled wearily along the corridor toward the lift. As the doors slid open, she scowled at the mirror inside and turned her back on it as she stepped in but she’d seen the state she was in. Hair a mess, clothes smudged and dirty from the dust and the print. She sighed and hit a button.
Upstairs she walked briskly through the office, keen that nobody get too good a look at her. She was going to report in and then ask to be excused for the day and intended to make it pretty clear that she would be going home anyway so she might as well be excused.
Stopping at the door she resisted the urge to barge straight in and knocked, perhaps a little too firmly.
‘Come.’
She raised her eyebrows at the closed door and mouthed the word ‘come’. Typical of her boss, she thought, trying to sound so imperious. She opened the door and walked in. Andrew Griffin had the phone to his ear and was telling someone to hold on for a moment.
‘Sarah.’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing’s been touched, nothing’s been moved, nothing is missing.’
He nodded but his expression remained stern. He didn’t appear to care what she had found. Or not found.
‘OK. OK then.’
She stood still for a moment, a little surprised after all her effort, after being cooped up in the store room for two days, after the secrecy and the ‘don’t go telling everyone about this’ from Griffin himself and now she wasn’t even sure he was listening. Anger began to flare up in her.
‘I’ve pretty much had it with that lot anyway,’ she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I thought I’d take off early. Shower, change — I’m covered in dust and ink…’
Griffin looked distracted. Sarah began to back out of the room. ‘That OK?’
He nodded and seemed to snap to his senses. ‘Sure. Great. Definitely. Take yourself home, stick your feet up. Absolutely. Thanks for your help Sarah. Really appreciate it. Really.’
Confused she left and pulled the door shut and then stood staring at it momentarily. Then she turned and walked quickly for her desk to grab her handbag and coat. Better get out before he changes his mind, she thought.
*
In his office, alone again with no-one to hear, Griffin had taken the phone off mute and began speaking again, his voice low, cautious.
‘So something definitely was taken? Can you tell me what exactly? I mean can you find out?’ He nodded as he listened to the reply, only partly understanding. Something about the server, a log, keystrokes. ‘Right, sure, ok. Well whatever it takes, but I don’t want anybody else on this. Just you. And I need it soon. Really soon.’
17
Tuesday. 3pm.
‘Cheers Steve,’ Campbell said and set the huge take-out Starbucks cup down on his desk and began tearing sugar sachets open. He had just cajoled a colleague into doing a coffee-run for the four people that sat on his bank of desks.
The bags under Campbell’s eyes had done as much to convince his colleague to go as his promptings had. ‘You’ll be needing the Uberlatte then Danny?’ he’d said refusing Campbell’s proffered tenner.
Another unproductive day was passing and the feeling of despondency and self-pity that had characterised his previous morning was being overtaken by worry and a creeping fear.
His first instinct the night before, looking at the blood smeared plastic memory stick had been to call the police. DC Samuel had left a card; let him do his job. But Campbell’s mind would not be still and he had sat in silence in his living room, his attention shifting between the memory stick and mostly the empty space in front of him that he stared blankly into for a long time.
There was clearly, undeniably, a link to the break-in he’d read about in the local paper. It was no great leap of logic to realise this was what had been stolen in the break in, or at least that it contained whatever had been stolen. Which meant data. Which meant industrial espionage.
Which, to Campbell’s mind, meant something serious.
That it was tucked right under his oven, near where the man was lying and smeared in his blood didn’t allow for chance or coincidence. The gatecrasher had pushed it in there to hide it. And if that was true, then it naturally followed that it must be something worth hiding.
And that there was someone worth hiding it from.
So why not call DC Samuel? Why not run straight out of his front door to the local police station and get rid of the thing?
Because they knew where he lived didn’t they? And, more to the point, they knew that he had it. Because they’d come looking for it.
They. Who the hell were they? Campbell thought of a million possibilities but had no real idea. His gatecrasher had obviously known who they were though since how the hell else would he have got hold of this USB? And if he had gone to the effort — when he could barely even speak or open his eyes — to actually hide this, then he must know how much they wanted it back and what they would do to get it.
No, Campbell thought. I can hand this over and leave it safe in the police station but I can’t hand myself in can I? No. And then what? Who knows who might come knocking. Setting the police on their trail might just make them angry. Them. They.
All these things he ran through again as he sipped his coffee and tapped at his keyboard absently.
The USB now sat where he had found it, having tried various hiding places and discounting them all, along with the idea of carrying it with him to work, the thought of which terrified him. He had decided that its original hiding place was the best one — certainly it had eluded whoever had come looking for it that Monday morning.
But what to do now? Campbell had slept poorly again as the idea that they might come back had occurred to him. Every noise was a footstep, a lock being picked, a door creaking open. Campbell had given up on trying to sleep for a second night and left for work early, almost hurrying out of the flat where he couldn’t escape a creeping sense of vulnerability.
He had to do something, he decided. Sitting here worrying about going home again was no good at all. Maybe he was being silly. Maybe the drinking and the lack of sleep and the stress of the last few days was making him think and act strangely. Of course. Perhaps he’d just check up on this himself first, set his mind at ease and then hand over the USB to the police after all. It would probably be a bloody florist or something. A toy shop.
Campbell felt himself relax slightly for the first time in days. What did he know really? Sure, this seemed sinister enough in the absence of anything but his own paranoid speculation. The problem he had was there were too many questions without answers. What he needed to do was some simple research. That was his job after all.
18
Tuesday. 3.15 pm.
Sarah Knowles sat feeling a little self-conscious at her desk as she sorted through the emails that had accumulated in her absence.
She was uncomfortably aware of her shabby appearance and though she knew she probably felt worse than she looked she still thought that people were looking at her. As well as that she was about to stand up and walk out at least two hours before most other people would and she knew that would not pass without comment. People would feel put out if they thought that Sarah was getting special treatment from the boss. Fat chance, she thought to herself.
Sarah sent a few quick replies to friends who had been gossiping and joking over email about what they had all got up to on their girls night out the previous Saturday. She had not been able to make it. She hated missing out on anything but at least she felt a little more involved with the girls copying her in on the banter.