Part 18 (2/2)

'Londoners who came out to the west in the nineties.'

'Well, as you can see there were lots. And a few I thought you might want to look at closely. There's a Franc Kaminski. Made a fortune from an online p.o.r.n site called Myrichdaddy. Serious Crime have been after him for years the website's got a portal to a newsgroup that's basically a kiddie-p.o.r.n site.'

'Franc Kaminski? Polish?'

'Maybe his parents. But he's a Londoner.'

'Kaminski?' She tapped her teeth thoughtfully with her pen. 'I don't know. When did he come out west?'

'1998.'

'Nope. It's not him. This guy arrived in 1993. And child p.o.r.n sounds wrong.'

'OK. Scratch him, and the next two they're definitely child p.o.r.n. Look at Mike Beckton. He was there some time in the early eighties, hard to be specific. He's in the slammer at the moment. There's a photo.'

'Yup I can see that. It's not him. And this guy under him?' She was looking at a picture of a Middle Eastern guy. 'Halim something or other, can't p.r.o.nounce it, that's not him. The one I'm looking for is pretty much completely white bread. If he's anything at all he might be Jewish.'

'Right that rules out some of these. Tell you what, keep scrolling down. There are four at the bottom who both came to Bristol from London. No photos but they're all listed as IC ones white.'

'Yup. I see them. Jo Gordon-Catling? Doesn't sound right but I'd like to see him.'

'I've just had his photo come through this morning. I'll scan it when we get off the line and send it over to you. The last three photos are coming directly from your force targeting team. The case officer's got your email address. He'll send you photos later.'

She put her finger on the screen, looking at the last names. 'Mark Rainer?'

'Yup. They still haven't nicked him but he's wanted for importing p.o.r.n that breached the s.e.xual Offences Act S and M stuff and, of course, the law's all changed on that. Richard Rose he's small-time, hasn't been active for years; we think he's gone straight, but might be worth a look. The last one's the biggest hitter of the lot got overseas connections. Military. In the late nineties he was using Special Boat Squadron guys to smuggle nasty stuff into the country paying them a grand a pop to bring a launch in through Poole, used a mooring in one of those millionaire pads on Sandbanks. The Met's Organized Crime Group has got him firmly on their radar, not to mention their e-crime unit even the Specialist Investigations Directorate at the Inland Revenue have given him a good hiding. But this boy's as slippery as a butcher's you-know-what. They just can't make it stick.'

'OK. What's his name?'

'Goldrab.'

'Goldrab?'

'That's right. David Adam Goldrab.'

2.

It was hot in the office. The printer was still whirring, churning out hot sheets of paper. Zoe stared at the names, willing them to mean something to convey something to her. Marc Rainer, Jo Gordon-Catling, Richard Rose, David Goldrab. 'Come on, London Tarn,' she murmured. 'Which one is you?'

None of the doc.u.mentation helped. She needed a face to put to the details. But the emails from SOCA and the targeting team could take ages. She pushed back her chair, wandered out into the kitchen at the end of the corridor and put on the kettle. Waiting for it to boil, she stood at the window, idly looking down into the car park. There were marked vehicles moving around down there, in and out, pedestrians coming and going. Finding London Tarn, after all these years? She wasn't sure how she felt about that at all.

She was about to turn away when she noticed an officer and a teenage boy in school uniform coming across the forecourt. She put her forehead against the window. She recognized the thatch of blond hair. It was Peter Cyrus Millie's friend. Frowning, she switched off the kettle and went out into the corridor. DC Goods was coming out of the incident room, scanning a memo.

'Goodsy?'

He looked up. 'Hmm?'

'One of Ralph Hernandez's friends is in the building. Peter Cyrus. Any idea what that's about?'

He c.o.c.ked his head on one side. 'Don't you know?'

'Don't I know what?'

'About the CCTV.'

'What CCTV?'

'I thought everyone knew.'

'Well, probably everyone everyone does. Just not does. Just not me me. You know.' She tapped her forehead. 'I've got that sign here that says, ”Important information to share? Please ensure I'm the last person you tell.”'

He shrugged apologetically. 'Ben's had a team trawling the pubs. The ones Hernandez was supposed to be drinking in with his mates?'

'Ye-es,' she said cautiously.

'Well, he wasn't there. None of them were. We've interviewed regulars and the bar staff, who've checked till receipts and CCTV. They've all been lying.'

3.

Zoe couldn't see Peter Cyrus anywhere, but she found Nial Sweetman sitting in a surly huddle in the reception area. She saw him through the gla.s.s door as she came down the corridor and knew from his face he'd rather be anywhere than there. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, and when he saw it was her, a faint ray of hope crossed his face. She shook her head. 'No. It's not me who's interviewing you. I'm sorry.'

He drooped back, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. Zoe glanced at the desk sergeant, who was speaking on the phone, standing staring out of the window, not paying attention. She stood near Nial, her arms crossed, monitoring the sergeant out of the corner of her eye, speaking in a low whisper out of the side of her mouth.

'I shouldn't talk to you. I could get into serious trouble. They could even charge you with obstruction.'

'I know,' he muttered. 'That's what my dad said might happen.'

'Why the h.e.l.l did you do it?'

Nial shrugged. 'Because he's a mate? Because I thought it was a good idea. That's what I'm going to tell them. That it was my idea.'

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