Saskia Brandt: Deja Vu Part 14

Whom do you hunt? Proctor or yourself?

Saskia followed the shape of her mouth. 'This. Is. Me. Talking.'

Confused?

'Who are you?'

The hawk.

'The hawk that returned?'

Spin, measure, snip.

She closed her eyes. Her imagination opened on a snowy archipelago. Each memory formed an island bridge: the Zippo lighter in Jago's hand; the statue of Prometheus at the West Lothian Centre; the name Ute.

And.

Well?

Smoke.

At first, it would be mistaken for cigarette. Then its acidic properties would overwhelm. Plastic. Coughing. Yes: panic.

A building was on fire.

The hawk that returned.

'Is this the key to the cipher?' she asked the archipelago. 'Is this my key?'

Whom do you ask?

'Who said that? What are you?'

Ute.

'What about her?'

Snip.

Snip snip snip.

'Kommissarin?'

Saskia gasped. The archipelago slipped aside like an inner eyelid. She blinked. She was still in the toilet cubicle, in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the police station, and Charlotte Garland held her arm. She was not in...

'Saskia?'

...in Cologne.

Chapter Nineteen.

Besson opened his clamsh.e.l.l computer. The heat of his fingertips summoned a keyboard, red-glowing, as Jago, Saskia and Garland watched a projection on the wall. One pane showed a taxi against the frontage of the Park View Hotel. The other was crowded with a set of image processing tools.

'I'll say this for you,' murmured Jago. 'You're well connected.'

'I am,' Saskia replied. 'Paul, go.'

They watched the video from beginning to end. The story was simple: a car drove in from left of frame and stopped; Proctor opened the door, hesitated, then closed it. The windows remained opaque with reflected sky. Five minutes later, he opened the door a second time and walked out of frame. The taxi drove away. For a period during those five minutes, he had made the transmission.

Saskia asked, 'Ideas?'

'The door,' said Jago. 'Why did he open it twice?'

'Yes. He is the only person in the car. What model of car is that? Does it have an advanced computer?'

Besson shook his head. 'That's a Merc with a hands-off driving module. The computer is thick.'

Saskia approached the projection. 'McWhirter said that Proctor used an industrial prototype to detonate the bomb. Perhaps his computer handled the communication too. Picture it: Proctor arrives, he opens the door, then the computer calls him back in. He closes it again and receives the transmission.'

Jago grunted. 'Maybe the computer announced the caller.'

Saskia clicked her fingers. 'One day, you will make a fine Kommissar, Deputy.'

'Gee, thanks.'

'Paul, can we see a plot of the sound at that point?'

Besson nodded. On the projection, Proctor reversed towards the car and opened the door. Besson wound it back still further. The door closed. He kept cuing. Thirty seconds later a for Proctor, five minutes earlier a the door opened again. 'Alright,' Besson said, 'here's a visual of the sound.' The image was replaced by two graphs, each with a tiny peak halfway along. 'I'll play it. Quiet.'

As it played, Saskia heard a component deep inside the sound. It might have been a footfall, a snapping branch or a voice.

'Anyone?' she asked.

'Wait, I can enhance it.'

They waited for Besson to select a smudge in the spectrogram.

'This is it. Quiet again, please.'

A voice, swept with wind, said, 'Professor Proctor, it is your daughter.'

Saskia clapped Besson on the back and shared a nod with Garland.

'N'bad,' said Jago.

While Jago spoke to his boss about arranging an interview with Jennifer Proctor, Saskia donned her gla.s.ses and monitored the virtual works.p.a.ces of Besson and Garland, who were engaged in a review of communications between David and Jennifer Proctor. Pictures and text fluttered into the foreground and disintegrated, or joined to represent relationships suggested by Nexus, the semantic pa.r.s.er used by the UK Police Service.

'Interesting,' said Garland. 'David Proctor is flagged for surveillance. Turns out this isn't the first time he's blown something up at the West Lothian Centre.'

'How does that help us?'

'Here,' said Besson. In Saskia's gla.s.ses, a data tile rushed towards her. She stopped it with a thought. It was a scan of a paper doc.u.ment, headed 'GCHQ'. 'Proctor has been flagged since 2003. Some a.n.a.lysis has already been carried out on his correspondence.'

'Can we use that to our advantage?'

'It should speed up the process. Hey, Charlotte, is that video of our man?'

'Yeah. A robotics conference in Amsterdam in '21. Looks like Proctor was the keynote. Nothing doing, though.'

Saskia tuned out. Beyond the graphical interface - which she could slide away on command - was a world where she had committed murder. There would be data for that too. Photographs. Video footage. Court doc.u.ments. Witnesses.

In Cologne.

And yet she could not investigate a datum of it. The previous morning, when she had stood with the revolver in grisly salute, Beckmann had marked her limits. Any attempt to investigate herself would not be tolerated.

Forget it, Brandt. Whom do you hunt?

'Wow,' said Garland, 'look at this.'

It was an email. Garland highlighted some text in the centre and tossed it towards Saskia.

b2kool 2 use an encrypted transmission, dad 'What did her father say to that?' asked Saskia.

'The reply is missing.'

'Shame.'

'Kommissarin,' said Besson. 'Read these.'

In the latest transmissions, Proctor seldom wrote more than two lines. They were invariably apologetic: 'Sorry I can't write any more right now,' 'CU Gotta go,' 'Write more soon, I prooomise!', and so on, but the follow-ups were never sent. Jennifer's e-mails shortened. She made jokes about her father's tardiness, jokes that became sardonic and accusatory. At the same time, Proctor's replies became defensive, hurt and confused. The messages described a dying relationship. Saskia could not suppress her sadness.

The e-mails dried up. There was no code.

'Okay,' Saskia said. 'Tune out for a moment.' She removed her gla.s.ses and watched their faces. 'Charlotte, the e-mail about the cipher. When was that sent?'

'Back in '21,' said Garland.

'The cipher would have to be complicated,' Besson said. 'Maybe she completed it as part of a school project.'

'What was the name of her school? The one in New York?'

'Wayne's College,' said Garland.

'Find their electronic doc.u.ments archive. Search for projects by Jennifer Proctor.'

Garland smiled. All three replaced their gla.s.ses. Garland tore through the data and Besson and Saskia followed in her slipstream. A list of projects appeared. One was t.i.tled: 'An algorithm for one-time pad encryption and decryption, by Jennifer B. Proctor'.

Quite unexpectedly, Saskia thought of Simon.

'Bingo,' she said.

Detective Superintendent Shand took a box of paperwork from a chair and dropped it into his wastebasket. Saskia settled into the empty seat. Politely, she smiled about the narrow, high-ceilinged office. Jago sat on the windowsill.

'Always nice to meet our continental counterparts,' said the DSI. He had a grey goatee beard and a lopsided, friendly expression. 'Treating you well?'

'Saskia made the breakthrough in the Proctor case,' Jago said.

'Team effort,' she replied. 'We now have a full transcript of the conversation that took place in the car between Proctor and his daughter.'

Jago gave him a sheaf of loose A4, folded lengthways. The DSI glanced through. 'Nothing jumps out. You two have had time to think about it. Talk to me.'

'I have a hunch,' said Saskia. 'I think that Proctor has left the country, perhaps via an airport.'

'Why?'

'He has received a threat to his life. His daughter says, "Watch your back. Something may happen." This warning comes true, does it not?'

The DSI arched an eyebrow. 'I thought that the "something" was a result of Proctor's own actions.'

Saskia said, 'I realise, sir, that we are not in a position to verify or falsify Proctor's charges. But we are also not required to accept them. I mean, we must not accept conclusions unless we make them ourselves from available evidence. n.o.body, so far, has been able to produce evidence to show that Proctor is responsible for anything. It is conjecture. A jury might not convict him.'

The DSI was grim. 'You should attend more trials.' Seeing Saskia's expression, he pulled a face, as if to dismiss his own comment.

'If Proctor is an innocent party, then I believe he will wish to gather more information about his predicament. At the very least, more information would bolster his defence against the charges. Under EU law, it is not illegal for an innocent person to attempt an escape.'

Jago gave her a warning look but the DSI nodded. 'Well, I can't argue with your research, Detective.'

'Kommissarin,' Saskia said. She felt her voice strengthen. 'Proctor is a university professor. It is a comfortable existence. We know from his e-mails that his relationship with his daughter is strained. The last few days will have proved to be very difficult, even life-altering. Proctor will undoubtedly feel the need to leave the country. Here he is hunted. In America he is not. His daughter is in America. In addition, she gave him the warning. If he is indeed innocent, then his search for answers must begin with her. Flying out would "kill two birds with one stone". We must a.s.sume it is within his capability.'

The DSI said, 'I'm with you. Jennifer is his daughter. The person who helped organise his escape is someone who would risk everything for him. Jennifer fits the bill. Was she the woman who broke Proctor out of the Park Hotel? Who knows, maybe her employers a if they are the US government, like you say a helped to falsify her pa.s.sport and formulate Proctor's escape plan. If we get her, we get Proctor. But is she still in the country?'

'I think it is unlikely,' Saskia replied. 'If you are correct and she has the backing of the American government, they would advocate a plan with minimum risk. Perhaps she has already risked a great deal by personally overseeing her father's escape. If they were to attempt an escape together, the probability of their apprehension would increase. In that case, I would suggest that she left immediately via the nearest airport, Edinburgh.'

Jago shook his head. 'I don't know. If the Americans really wanted Proctor, why not smuggle him out by military transport?'