Peter James - Dead at First Sight

Sally thanked her and they moved on. A photograph of a neat-looking man in his late thirties in a business suit came up. The name beneath read ‘John Southern’.

DS Exton raised a hand. ‘I’m dealing with this one, and there seem to be a growing number of cases like this coming to us, boss,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit sad. Southern was put through to me and asked to see me in confidence. He’s a Brighton solicitor, married with three kids. For whatever reason, he signed on to an internet dating agency for married people seeking affairs. He met a lady who told him she was also married and their exchanges, over a few weeks, became increasingly — er — fruity.’

The very straight-laced detective blushed then went on. ‘She started sending him pictures of herself in a state of undress and asked him to reciprocate. Which he did. Then she asked him to show her pictures of his — er, member — aroused.’

‘Member of Parliament, would that be?’ Kevin Hall quizzed. Several of the team laughed.

‘It then progressed further. She sent him a video of herself masturbating and asked him to send her one of him doing the same. Which, unfortunately, he did — very foolishly, he now realizes. The next thing that happened was her threatening to expose him on Facebook to all his followers. To circulate the video. His followers included his wife and three children. She started with a demand for £5,000, which he paid. Then one for £10,000. It was followed by one for £25,000. He’s not a wealthy guy, he’s only a junior partner, but he managed to find and send the money. But now he’s had a demand for £100,000 and that’s when he contacted us — fortunately. The only way he could raise this would be by remortgaging his house — which couldn’t happen without his wife consenting.’

‘What have you advised him, Jon?’

‘I’ve told him to string her along for the moment, tell her — whoever her is — or the people behind her, more likely — that it will take him time to raise the money.’

‘I think this is definitely one for Digital Forensics,’ Sally Medlock said. ‘But he’s going to have to take the risk of the threat being carried out.’

‘He’s petrified of it getting out there.’

‘He shouldn’t be such a wanker!’ Kevin Hall said.

‘Watch out, Kevin,’ DC Charlotte Williams said. ‘You’re sounding like Norman Potting!’

Next, a photograph of a striking woman in her mid-fifties with long dark hair and a provocative expression appeared. The name beneath was ‘Suzy Driver’.

Williams signalled to the DS.

‘Yes, Charlotte?’

‘This is an interesting one, ma’am. Mrs Driver is a fifty-five-year-old wealthy widow in the city — her late husband was an antiques dealer. She’s sussed that she’s being scammed and has done quite a lot of work checking out her scammer on the internet, before contacting us. I interviewed her at her home. She has challenged her apparent “lover” to meet her in person. The email trails that Intel have come up with point to Germany.’

‘Germany again?’ Sally Medlock said. ‘This is getting interesting, a new area for us. Historically we have mostly Ghana, Nigeria and Eastern Europe.’

‘Mrs Driver’s been very cooperative,’ Charlotte Williams said. ‘Fortunately, she’s not parted with any money — it was the request for a loan that triggered her suspicions.’

Unlike most of our victims , the DS rued, privately. ‘What’s the latest with her?’

‘Well, she’s given us the name of her scammer, a Dr Norbert Petersen, who claims to be a Norwegian geologist, residing in Oslo. Digital Forensics have found his name, and same identity, on five European internet dating sites. He’s using images of a gay Brighton man, Toby Seward, a professional motivational speaker married to an architect, Paul Sibley. Digital Forensics are currently working on trying to uncover his real identity with the lady’s help. Mrs Driver has been very smart.’

‘In what way?’

‘She’s keeping up the pretence to Petersen. Although she’s told us she is certain the man’s ID is phoney, she’s pretending to him that she accepts his explanation, and that she is going to arrange the money — the £20,000 loan he’s asked to borrow for his grandmother’s hospital bills.’

‘Brilliant!’ Medlock said. ‘How long can she keep up the pretence?’

‘I think for a while. She has a daughter in Melbourne who’s due to give birth to her first grandson and is booked on a flight next weekend to go out to stay with them for a few weeks. Petersen has been very clever too. He told her he was coming to England to see her. When she replied that she was going to Australia for a while, he begged her to stay on in the UK for a bit longer. She said she’d bought a non-refundable air ticket and he immediately offered to reimburse her if she cancelled it.’

‘What would happen if she called his bluff, Charlotte?’ DS Exton asked.

‘He’d probably come up with one of the excuses they all use,’ said DS Phil Taylor, who had headed the fledgling former High-Tech Crime Unit some years back. ‘A car crash on the way to the airport. Or problems with his visa requiring a huge bung. Or a sick relative. They know how to yank the heart strings. They learn that on their first day.’

‘Twenty grand is a big chunk of change,’ Medlock said. ‘Not many people can come up with that amount of money instantly. Can’t she say it’s in an account where there’s a period of notice?’

‘I’ve suggested that. But as yet she’s not responded. I’m sure she will use every excuse she can, she’s a feisty lady. And it will be a lot easier for her if she is in Australia.’

The DS thanked her and they moved on to the next of the names on the list. As they did so, DC Charlotte Williams looked at her phone, checking for texts, then emails. During the past few days, Suzy Driver had been in constant communication with her, either by phone, text or email. But it was worrying her that she’d heard nothing from her since Friday evening.

She sent her a text.

Hi, Mrs Driver, have you any more news for us? Could you update us before you leave? All best, DC Williams

By the end of the meeting, twenty minutes later, there had been no reply. She made a note to try calling her later.

Roy Grace generally had an even temper and lost it rarely, but this evening he was close to boiling point, with a raging toothache not helping. The day had started well: a glorious early-morning jog with Humphrey across the fields, through an autumnal dawn — their rescue Labrador-Border Collie cross was loving their move to the country.

Then it had begun going downhill soon after, when his beloved Alpha Romeo wouldn’t start. It had a flat battery, for no apparent reason. He’d jump-started it and it had got him to the office, then wouldn’t start again. The RAC had duly arrived and cheerily given him the good and bad news. The bad was that the battery was knackered. The good was that they had a spare on board, for which they relieved him of nearly £200.

He’d then had a two-hour meeting with a solicitor at the Crown Prosecution Service, who was pedantically questioning Roy’s identification of a Brighton GP, Edward Crisp, a suspected serial killer. How much veracity did you need to identify a man who had fired a twelve-bore shotgun at you from ten feet and nearly blown your leg off?

Next he’d had to endure a performance review by his immediate boss — and nemesis — Assistant Chief Constable Cassian Pewe. There had been, unsurprisingly, high-level repercussions over a kidnapping case Grace had handled six weeks ago, Operation Replay, because of the high body count, mostly within the Brighton Albanian community. Pewe wasn’t interested that Roy had nearly died in the process of achieving a successful outcome, saving a fourteen-year-old boy from what would otherwise have been certain death. He was only concerned to personally come out smelling of roses from the Independent Office for Police Conduct enquiry into seven deaths related to the kidnap.