Michael Morley - Spider

'No, indeed it wouldn't. And that presumably is the main reason why you came to me.'

'Mr Lieberman, where else would I go – you're the best.'

'Flattery, my dear Agent Fernandez, will get you everything your heart desires.' Manny slid a piece of tracing paper out of the file envelope and paper-clipped it on to the photocopy of the BRK letter recovered in Italy. 'First I did top-of-the-letter analysis, and I've marked up this "trace" to show how the offender starts off his letters. Can you see?'

Fernandez had to stand behind him to get a proper look. The trace paper was covered with tiny marks. The first marks were made at the highest point of all the letters. 'I've got it,' she said.

'Okay. Next I marked out where his second peaks are. So, for example, on the letter B, my first mark is at the top of the B, then my second mark is where the top half-circle of the B hits the middle of the vertical letter line. You got that too?'

Fernandez looked at the trace paper closely. 'Yeah, Mr L, I'm still with you.'

Manny sat back. 'By marking out all the peaks and troughs of his letters with those small dots that you saw, I was able to join up the dots and get a kind of graph. Let me show you.' He returned to the trace paper and ran his finger along the pencil line, which looked to Fernandez very similar to the printout you might get from an ECG or a polygraph. 'Then, I was able to take this trace from the BRK letter and place it over the writing on the label of the box sent to your office here in New York.' Manny slid the trace over the cardboard sample and clipped it into position. 'You'll see now that although he wrote in capital letters, obviously to avoid handwriting detection, he has still given us enough to go on. The height of all the letters is identical, the mid-points are identical, the spacing between the letters is identical, the spacing between the words is identical and the spacing between the lines he's written is also identical. As I said, the same man wrote the same messages with the same pen.'

'Mr L, at times like this I wish I was fifty years older,' said Fernandez, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

Suddenly, all the hunches and gut instincts were justified. At last, they had positive proof, hopefully proof strong enough to one day put before a jury, that there hadn't been two killers at work. Just the one. The Black River Killer had indeed crossed continents and killed in Italy.

Pan Arabia News Channel, New York Jack and Howie had no time to waste on pleasantries. Howie shoved his FBI shield in the face of the security guards at Pan Arabia's reception and made it brutally clear that he and his colleague were going straight to el Daher's office, whether they liked it or not.

They rode the elevator, both visualizing how the coming scene would play out. The metal doors slid open, revealing a busy open-plan office with another reception area. Howie flashed his badge again. 'FBI. Where's Tariq el Daher's office?'

A young woman in her mid-twenties almost held her nerve and thought about stalling them, but caved in and said, 'At the bottom on the left. Shall I call his secretary and say -'

Jack and Howie were gone before she finished. They strode past journalists pounding computer keyboards and secretaries running off multi-coloured copies of scripts. Tariq el Daher was sitting watching TV with another man, when they pushed open the door to his glass-fronted office.

'I didn't know you had an appointment, Mr Baumguard,' said the journalist, his eyes never leaving the screen.

'Do I need one?' said Howie, jabbing his finger on the set's off button. 'I thought yesterday that we had an understanding. Then I drive into work and listen to a pile of bullshit on the radio that upsets me so badly I have to come straight round here.'

Tariq looked at Howie. 'Be good enough to turn the television back on and I'll show you something of interest to you.'

Howie shot him a searching look, then switched on the set.

Jack sat down on a couch next to Tariq's companion and sprawled out his giant frame. 'Hi there,' he said, in a way that sounded more intimidating than courteous. The man, a professional type in his late fifties, looked back at him but said nothing.

Tariq hit a remote control and rewound some footage. 'This morning I received a telephone call from someone who rang our reception and asked to speak to me. Anonymous callers don't usually get put through, but he asked reception to tell me the numbers 898989. I took the call and he told me that the hyperlink I clicked yesterday would be reactivated in five minutes' time and would then be inoperable again within another five minutes. He added that unless I disconnected the police trace it would not work.'

'What did he sound like?' asked Jack.

Tariq frowned at him. 'And you are?'

Jack frowned back. 'I'm the guy asking you the question. What did he sound like?'

'His voice was disguised,' said Tariq. He waved a hand towards his glass-topped desk. 'I recorded it on my phone. I will have a copy made for you.'

'Gee, thanks,' said Howie. 'What'd he say?'

Tariq yawned, as though it was a big effort to answer their questions. 'That was it. He just said I had five minutes to access the site. I think we missed thirty seconds, maybe one minute of it. When you came in, I was reviewing the footage.'

'The same footage that you screened on this morning's eight o'clock bulletin?' asked Howie.

'Yes,' confirmed Tariq. 'But I presume if you only heard about it on the radio, then you haven't seen the material?'

'You presume right,' said Howie.

Tariq hit play on the remote and as the first picture came on screen he paused it. 'I will show you, but please understand we did not screen this version in its entirety. We selected only the least disturbing part of the tape and we showed it on air for only twenty seconds.'

'Very restrained,' said Jack sarcastically, 'how very responsible of you.'

Tariq put the remote down on his lap and frowned again at Jack. 'You're Jack King, aren't you? I remember seeing a photograph of you when I was at Reuters, what, four, five years ago now. Am I right?'

Jack stared him down. 'We don't have time for this. Just play the video.'

Tariq studied the man's face. He was sure he was right. He pressed play and the pictures started rolling.

Howie and Jack didn't flinch or react at all when they saw the awful scene of the girl's convulsions. They were unemotionally scanning every inch of the picture frame, searching for clues and any possible evidence that would tell them where she was, when the recording had been made and whether she might still be alive.

Jack's mind turned to the reasons why someone would record the scene through fixed cameras, rather than be there in the room with the victim. Why wouldn't he film it himself with a hand-held camera, so he could get up close and personal?

Maybe he would, if he had a choice. Which meant he wasn't in the building wherever the girl was kept.

Why wouldn't he be in the building? Because he was working during the day? Or, more likely, because he wanted to be away from the crime scene when she died, making it much harder therefore to connect him to the murder.

The tape ran for almost four minutes. After seeing the victim motionless for around thirty seconds, Howie called time out. 'Hold it. Stop it for a second. What do you think, Jack? Is she dead, or what?'

Jack scratched the back of his neck and was about to give his opinion when Tariq's companion spoke for the first time. 'If I may introduce myself, I am Dr Ian Carter; I am a consultant to the television station and formerly a member of the World Health Organisation. I have seen the footage only three or four times, but from what I have observed I would say she has suffered a terrible convulsion and blacked out. I cannot conclude that she is dead. Sadly, nor can I tell you with any great confidence that she is still alive.'