Steven Dunne - Deity

Noble entered the Incident Room and raised a thumb. ‘Okay. Two o’clock. Full briefing ahead of the next Deity broadcast. Charlton, Jane and her two DCs will be there too.’

‘Any news from Pullin?’

‘Yeah, no more bodies at the weir.’

‘Are you sure they were thorough, John?’

Noble raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t ask that question. But if you feel you must. .’

Brook hesitated. ‘Maybe I should just take his word.’

Noble smiled patronisingly. ‘You’re making so much progress.’

Brook emitted a one-note laugh. ‘What about Exeter Bridge?’

‘Rhys is sending it over now.’

‘Mine or yours?’

‘Yours.’

Brook’s features betrayed a tic of annoyance — another stranger with his email address. He logged on to his internal account and clicked Play on the attachment while Noble turned on the ceiling-mounted projector with the remote. That morning’s CCTV footage of Exeter Bridge appeared at once.

‘How good are these pictures?’ said Brook.

‘The cameras were upgraded three years ago,’ said Noble. ‘What’s our time slot?’

‘What time did I get to the river?’

‘Just after six.’

‘Okay. Yvette arrived ten minutes after me so, assuming she phoned a cab immediately someone tipped her off, it would take half an hour at the most between phoning and getting into town at that time of day. Say five-fifteen to be sure.’

Noble teed up the film to that time and set it running. The bridge, the best vantage-point to watch the recovery of Wilson’s body, was deserted. But as time wore on, more people began to cross into the city centre, and the crowd watching the emergency services grew.

‘Who alerted us to the body?’

‘A security guard at the Council House saw the head bobbing and phoned it in.’

‘Time?’

Noble checked his notebook. ‘Dispatch took the call just after three.’ Brook continued to watch the film at normal speed. ‘Whoever tipped off Yvette didn’t need to be on the bridge.’

Brook nodded. ‘I know. It’s just a hunch. Wilson’s death has been staged and a good director would want to-’

‘There!’ Noble interrupted. Brook followed his digit. ‘Jeans, blue hoodie, sunglasses, scarf around the face. Caucasian male?’

‘Hard to be sure,’ replied Brook. ‘Walks like a man.’ He peered at the screen. ‘But unless my eyes are failing me, that does say G-STAR on his chest, doesn’t it?’

Noble froze the film and zoomed in. The brand was clearly visible across a white slash on the chest. ‘That’s Kyle’s hoodie, all right.’

‘Or we’re meant to think it is,’ said Brook.

‘Messing with our heads.’ Noble nodded.

‘What’s that in his hand?’

The film played on. The figure in the hoodie turned away from the CCTV camera mounted high on the Council building, to lean on the bridge wall. He watched the opposite bank where, off camera, Wilson Woodrow’s body was being recovered. A moment later he stood erect and lifted a camcorder to his right eye.

‘You were right. He filmed us. Cheeky sod.’

‘Did we see what direction he came in from?’ Brook asked.

Noble reviewed the images until they could make out the figure strolling past the Brewery Tap at the north end of the bridge, towards the city centre and the CCTV camera perched on the Council House. He kept his head bowed all the way, as though he expected to be filmed.

The film continued and the two detectives watched closely, hoping to glimpse a face under the hood but the figure never removed it, or the scarf and sunglasses, and the camcorder was rarely lowered from the face. Just after six thirty, the figure stopped filming, pulled out a mobile phone and thumbed at it for a few moments.

‘He’s texting,’ said Brook.

‘Yvette Thomson said someone phoned her.’

‘Text or call, it wasn’t him, John. Look at the time.’

‘Six thirty.’ Noble nodded. ‘She was already at the river.’

‘Check with the mobile operators. Maybe that phone belonged to one of our students. Start with Kyle’s.’

A second later, the hooded figure sauntered back up Derwent Street and out of sight.

‘Whoever that was, he didn’t tip off Yvette Thomson,’ said Noble.

‘Not in our time-frame at least,’ agreed Brook.

‘Then who did?’

Brook narrowed his eyes. ‘Somebody who knows her and has contacts in the Force. There’s no other explanation.’

‘A journalist?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past Brian Burton to be greasing the wheels, but if he did get a whisper from an inside contact, he wouldn’t be phoning Yvette Thomson.’

‘And he’d have been at the scene before us, being a pain in the backside,’ conceded Noble. ‘Who then?’

Brook smiled faintly. ‘How about somebody with a stake in our investigation, somebody with money who can be trusted to reward a heads-up, who used to be in the business and keeps in touch with some of the old guard.’

Noble nodded now. ‘Len Poole.’

‘There’s no one else. And if we make the connection, it proves they knew each other before they came to Derby.’

Brook stared at the map of Derby on the wall. Cooper had added a second pin, this time south of the city in Pear Tree, nowhere near the first location in Allestree. The uploads to the Deity website were being carried out in seemingly random areas using wireless technology. No connection between the homeowners. The fact the addresses were both in residential areas also put paid to their chances of CCTV.

Noble walked in and handed Brook a sheaf of papers.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘School assessment reports for Russell Thomson. “Ysgols” in Welsh.’

Brook counted the pages. ‘He certainly went to a lot of ysgols.’

‘And that’s not all of them.’

Brook read quickly. The first school was Ysgol Emrys Williams near Rhyl in North Wales. Russell stayed there for only six weeks when he was twelve.

Russell is a timid boy with an unfortunate manner. He is easily led and even more easily provoked. He becomes distressed at even the mildest teasing and has become an easy target for those bullies seeking quick gratification. He doesn’t fight back and is quick to cry and has threatened self-harm. Suggest Russell works in smaller groups where he will have to deal with fewer students and can be monitored properly.

The next school was Ysgol Bryn Towyn near Holywell. It said much the same as the first school. Russell was there for three months when he was thirteen and taken out when the bullying became too much.

‘He and Yvette really moved around,’ observed Brook. He skimmed through the rest of the reports.

‘Now skip forward to 2008 when he was fifteen.’

Brook found the assessment from Ruthin Road High School near Chester.

22 February 2008

Subject — Russell Thomson

Following various unpleasant incidents as well as complaints by several upset parents, we have carried out a full investigation into the allegations against Russell Thomson. Although he denies sending the emails or taking the pictures, we are satisfied that he is indeed the culprit and that to discourage this form of cyber-bullying, we recommend a fixed exclusion of four weeks.

The police have been informed and Russell’s mother has agreed to our course of action.

Brook looked up at Noble. ‘Russell was the cyber-bully, not the other way round.’

‘I know,’ said Noble.

‘It’s like he’s two different people.’

‘And now we know why Russell felt able to have a Facebook account.’

Brook knocked softly on the glass panel and entered. Donald Crump turned his unshaven, heavily jowled face towards Brook, a length of sticky tape held in his hands.