Cyber Count: A Kat Munro Thriller (The Kat Munro Thrillers Book 2) Page 5

  ‘Newham sidings: 6pm Tues – 5am Wed.’

  The rest of his small team arrived as he finished writing and grabbed their seats for the morning briefing. Adam stood to one side of the incident board, with his laptop on a table in front of him.

  “Morning, all,” he said. “In addition to the cases we’re already working on, we have a new priority for today. The body of a young man matching the description of Marshall Tyler, a seventeen-year-old student at Sawyer’s Hill Grammar, was found early this morning by a runner at a railway siding leading into West Ham. The cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma. Still, we’ll know more once we get a preliminary report from the pathologist later today.”

  He tapped the laptop's keyboard and transferred four crime scene photos to display on one of the electronic screens hanging on the wall beside the board.

  “Not a robbery then,” Eloise said. “Since they left the trainers.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Adam agreed. “Although his phone, watch and wallet are missing. Eloise, can you get me his home address and the contact details for his parents. Tony, can you check the missing person reports filed in the last twenty-four hours?” he asked the middle-aged, plainclothes officer seated at a computer.

  “Sarge,” Detective Constable Tony Dupont acknowledged, rubbing a hand across his clipped greying beard.

  “Julian, I want all CCTV footage from the approach roads to the crime scene and see if there are any cameras in the vicinity of the railway siding.”

  Julian straightened from leaning against a desk, moved across the room to a computer and sat down. He shed his jacket and started typing.

  “We need to narrow down the time of death window. We currently have it as some time in the last twelve hours or so. Was he at school yesterday? Who last saw him?”

  “On it, boss,” Tony said, bringing up the missing person screen on the Holmes database on his desktop computer. A moment later, he called. “Okay, four missing persons reported in East London in the last forty-eight hours that fit the profile, but nothing for a Marshall Tyler.”

  Adam rested his hand on the back of Tony’s chair and leaned over to read the profiles. “You can remove the first two; they’re too young,” he said. “But those two are interesting, especially that most recent one. Look, he attends the same school as our vic.”

  Tony transferred the full missing person report onto the screen on the wall beside the incident board.

  “Harry Compton, final year at Sawyer’s Hill Grammar, reported missing by his parents Rosie and Terry Compton last night. They hadn’t seen him for twenty-eight hours at that stage. No further updates since then,” Tony said. “I wonder why it took them so long to report him missing?”

  “Send their details to my phone, I’ll pay them a visit,” Adam said. “Who from Missing Persons has been assigned?”

  “DS Cho.”

  “Good, let her know that we have a possible link and that I’ll be in touch later in the day.”

  “Sarge, I have the CCTV for the roads between the school and the crime scene,” Julian said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up. “There’s nothing for the actual road, but I’ll start at 4 p.m. yesterday with what I’ve got.”

  “Good, let me know what you find.”

  “According to his social media, Marshall Tyler is a boarder at Sawyer’s Hill Grammar,” Eloise called across the room from her desk.

  “In that case, call the school and see if they realise that he’s missing,” Adam instructed. “Tony, can you get back down to the crime scene and liaise with SOCO? I want to know what else they found in their wider search of the area.”

  Tony grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “On my way.”

  Eloise put the telephone down. “Marshall Tyler signed out after school on Monday to go and stay overnight with a school friend who is a day pupil, but he was absent from school yesterday. His parents live abroad. Geneva.”

  “Good work; I’ll head over to the school now,” Adam said.

  “Hang on, Adam, you’ll want to know this,” Eloise said. “His parents are Conrad Tyler and Esmeralda Jefferies.” Adam gave her a blank look. “Conrad Tyler is the British software developer who sold his business to one of the big tech companies several years back. Esme was a supermodel twenty years ago. They’re wealthy and famous.”

  “That explains the pose on his ID photo,” Julian called across the room.

  “Thanks for the heads-up. It doesn’t mean that they won’t still be devastated,” Adam said. “I probably should inform the DCI of his parentage before I go. Once the media get hold of this, it has the potential to be a circus.”

  Chapter 9

  Kat paused by the reception desk at the top of the stairs leading into the Forensic Accounting Associates office after lunch. Although it was cool out, she’d enjoyed a solitary walk along the river to clear her head.

  “Any news? What did the police say?” she asked Rosie, seated behind the reception desk.

  Rosie shook her head. She looked tired and drawn. “No sign of him.”

  “You should go home. You look exhausted,” Kat said.

  “I’m better having something to do,” Rosie said. “Terry has stayed home again, so he’ll let me know if… when Harry turns up.”

  “Okay, let me know when he does,” Kat said, giving her an encouraging smile, before continuing on towards her desk.

  “Actually, Kat,” Rosie called. Kat turned and waited while Rosie caught up to her. “If I gave you permission, could you get access to Harry’s bank account?”

  “Not without a court order of some sort, unless either of you is a signatory. But are you sure that you want to do that? He might see it as a betrayal of trust,” Kat said. “When he returns.”

  Rosie sighed. “Terry and I discussed it last night. Harry’s a good boy, but there’s no way he has earned all of that money from designing websites.”

  “Apparently, a lot of teenagers are making good money selling the game currency that they earn through online gaming.”

  “I don’t think he has time to play online games all that much.”

  Kat shrugged.

  Rosie’s mobile rang. She pulled it from her pocket and peered at the screen. “It’s Terry. I should take this.”

  Kat arrived at her desk at the same time as Nate and Shamira, who had just returned from a client visit.

  “Hey, how did it go this morning?” she asked.

  “Good, but more importantly,” Shamira said, grinning at her, “how was the date?”

  “It was alright, although it ended on a less than auspicious note,” Kat said.

  “Oh, yeah, tell me more,” Shamira said.

  Kat smiled at her enthusiasm. “Connor was attacked outside the restaurant.”

  “What?” Shamira screeched.

  “And I suppose you fought off his attacker,” Nate said, looking over. “Was he impressed?”

  “Not exactly. Some bystanders intervened, and the men ran off,” Kat said.

  “Robbery?”

  “No, they knew him, and this was the last warning, apparently.”

  “No way? What did Connor say? Was he hurt?” Shamira asked.

  “He brushed it off, said it went with the job of being an investigative journalist,” Kat said. “But, yes, he’ll have a sore face today.”

  “He’s not the right guy for you,” Shamira said with a shake of her head. “You don’t need any more drama in your life after everything that’s happened.”

  “True, although I am seeing him again for lunch on Saturday.”

  Shamira’s brow wrinkled. “Well, be careful.”

  “What?” Kat teased. “Aren’t you the one who is always telling me that I need to get out more? Put what happened with Gabe and Adam behind me?”

  Shamira rolled her eyes. “Stop using my words against me.” She dropped the magazine she was carrying onto her desk as she set down her bag and removed her raincoat, hanging it on a wall hook behind her desk.

  “You’ll never guess who has a feature in the Evening Standard magazine?” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Deborah Sharp,” Shamira said.

  “As in our client, Deborah Sharp?”

  “Yeah, there’s a profile on her and the charity that she runs.”

  Nate leaned over and grabbed the magazine. He flicked through the pages until he came to the article, headed with a photograph of their client, a petite, dark-haired woman, leaning against a desk piled with various bits of computer equipment. “She certainly makes a glamorous frontwoman,” he said.

  “She does,” Shamira agreed, snatching the magazine out of his hands. “Listen to this.”

  “Deborah Sharp is giving back to her community. On the campaign trail fifteen years ago, the former Hackney girl-made-good met her husband, the Honourable Jeremy Sharp, when he was running for the Hackney Borough, and she was a youth volunteer. In the last year, her charity, Digital Kids, has provided computer equipment and wireless Internet access to over one thousand homes in the less privileged areas of London. ‘Being born into a lower socio-economic household is an immediate disadvantage for a great many children. Often these homes cannot afford computers, or if they can, they don’t have the means to access high-speed Internet,’ Mrs Sharp said. ‘And in today’s digital world, that lack of access can compound the limitation of a child’s future prospects.’ And that’s where Digital Kids steps in. Working with schools, they identify families in need. ‘We have also set up computer labs at twenty local comprehensive schools. We run various training programmes and classes until the schools can manage themselves.’ The success of a recent celebrity-studded fundraiser means that the charity will double its efforts in the coming year. If you’d like to con
tribute, details can be found on the charity’s website.”

  “No mention of her impending divorce, then?” Kat said.

  “No,” Shamira said. “Perhaps the article was written a while ago and only just published now.”

  “Has Harry Compton turned up?” Nate asked. Kat shook her head. Nate looked thoughtful. “I wish we could have got into his computer. I’d love to know what he was up to.”

  “Yeah, there’s definitely something strange going on. I’ve meant to look up the details of Harry’s company at Companies House all morning,” Kat said, typing into the browser on her computer. “You’ve reminded me.”

  The company details for Harry Houdini’s Magic Tricks Ltd filled the screen.

  “He is the sole director and shareholder,” Nate said, reading over Kat’s shoulder. “What industry does it say the company is in?”

  Kat clicked into another screen. “Other amusement and recreation activities,” she read.

  “That could mean anything,” Shamira said, looking across from her desk.

  Footsteps sounded behind Kat, and she saw Shamira’s face light up.

  “Hello there. Your receptionist said to come straight over.”

  Kat’s heart sank as she registered who the voice belonged to.

  “Hello, DS Jackson,” Shamira said. Kat could hear the delight in her friend’s voice.

  “Adam, mate, how are ya?” Nate straightened from leaning on the back of Kat’s chair and shook hands with Adam.

  Kat closed her eyes for a moment and let out a calming breath before she spun her chair around to look at him. Adam was dressed in his usual attire of jeans, a black leather jacket and boots. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, and he looked tired and a little strained.

  “What can we do for you?” Kat asked.

  Adam registered her cool, even tone. “I’m working a homicide. A teenage boy found dead in East London this morning.”

  Shamira’s hands flew to cover her mouth.

  “Not Harry Compton?” Kat said in a whisper, her eyes wide.

  Adam shook his head. “No, but the dead boy was a schoolmate of Harry’s, whom I believe is your receptionist’s son.”

  Kat looked over towards the reception desk, where Rosie was speaking into her headset. “We should talk in one of the meeting rooms,” she said, standing, leading the way across the floor, and opening the door of an empty room with views along the Thames to Tower Bridge. Dark threatening rain clouds hung low over the city. Adam, Nate and Shamira followed, filing into the room and sitting down. Kat closed the door and took a seat at one end of the table, furthest away from Adam.

  “Our victim is a boarder at Sawyer’s Hill Grammar and told them he was staying at Harry’s two nights ago. But I have just spoken to Harry’s father, and that never happened. In fact, they reported Harry as being missing from that afternoon; he never came home from school.”

  “We know,” Kat said. “It was Nate and I that encouraged them to report him missing.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Adam said. “I’m curious; why did you two visit their house last night? His father mentioned that you looked at Harry’s computer.”

  “Rosie wanted us to look into what Harry had been doing online,” Nate said.

  “His parents found a crumpled bank statement in his room for a business account with over one hundred thousand pounds in it,” Kat said. “And they had no idea how he’d obtained that kind of money.”

  “They thought he’d been building websites, but you don’t make that sort of cash building websites for local clubs and businesses,” Nate added.

  “We’ve just looked at who owns the company, and Harry does,” Kat said.

  “So, what had he been doing?”

  “Hard to say, everything was heavily password-protected, but he did have a Tor browser open on one screen,” Nate said.

  “And a room full of computer equipment, designer clothes and other expensive toys,” Kat added.

  “Interesting,” Adam said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “And now he is missing, and his classmate is dead.”

  “You don’t think that Harry killed him, do you?” Shamira whispered.

  “I’m not sure what to think at this stage,” Adam said. “Harry, too, could be in danger for all we know.”

  “Poor Rosie,” Shamira said.

  “If I get his bank records and computer equipment delivered here, can I get you to look into it and report back to me?” Adam asked. “Our tech department has a two-week backlog. If what you’re saying is correct, then the clues to his whereabouts, and perhaps my victim’s death, could be on his computer, and I can’t wait for two weeks. I assume your firm’s overarching agreement with the Met is still in play?”

  “Yeah,” Kat said.

  “In that case, I’ll get you access to my victim’s bank accounts too,” he said, standing. “We need to know fairly quickly what these two were up to before Missing Persons makes the decision whether or not to issue a Child Rescue Alert.”

  “Harry’s hardly a child,” Nate said.

  “He’s under eighteen, so technically he is,” Adam said. “But they need to show a reasonable belief that he is in imminent danger and have sufficient information for the public to help us locate him. We have neither.”

  They stood, and Shamira opened the meeting room door, holding it as the others passed through. Adam nodded towards the reception desk. “Needless to say, this is confidential,” he said. “I’ll talk to the Comptons again in due course, probably later today.”

  “Of course.”

  Adam began walking across the office towards the entrance before pausing and turning with a bemused expression on his face.

  “What’s this I hear about you being in an altercation in the West End last night, Kat?” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes and approached him. “How?”

  Adam waited.

  “It was nothing; they ran off. Something to do with a story that Connor’s investigating.”

  “Connor? You mean Tommy’s reporter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I see,” he said, studying her for a moment. “You should have access to those accounts by the end of the day.”

  Chapter 10

  Adam drove through the gates and down the tree-lined avenue leading to Sawyer’s Hill Grammar School, thinking about Kat. She was acting very cool with him, not that he could blame her, but he hated leaving things the way they had. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and took a deep breath. There was stuff to sort out before he could try to talk with her again about anything personal. Although a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Tommy had been correct, and she’d obviously been out with Connor O’Malley last night. Perhaps he was too late, and she’d already moved on. The thought pained him, and he shoved it to the back of his mind.

  The manicured lawns surrounding the school’s magnificent red-brick buildings were dotted with ancient oak trees and clusters of students walking in groups or kicking a ball around. All wore the school’s uniform of dark grey trousers and a navy-blue blazer with a thin red pinstripe.

  Adam pulled to a stop in the allocated visitor parking area and followed the signs to the headmaster’s office. The school secretary showed him to a seat in a sunny waiting area beside a sizeable glass-fronted cabinet filled with various awards and trophies won by pupils over the years.

  “Mr Beauchamp will see you now, detective,” the secretary said, after a few minutes, ushering Adam through a doorway and closing the door behind him.

  A short, round man wearing a navy double-breasted suit moved from behind a wooden desk to shake Adam’s hand. He smoothed down his thinning hair with one hand and indicated to a pair of chairs in front of a window with the other.

  “Please have a seat, detective. Were you offered tea?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

  Adam handed him a card with his details. He sat down beside the window which overlooked the immaculate grass of the inner quadrangle of the school.