Snared (9 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

C
onsidine held the door open. “What do you think?”

Vicky walked towards her desk. “I doubt they’re involved.”

“You seemed to think they were.”

“I was just being grumpy. I thought we were getting somewhere, but it’s not likely they’re doing this.”

“Their alibi’s funny. Just the pair of them to vouch for each other’s whereabouts. I never like that.”

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Do you want to check up on it, then?”

“Aye, all right.” Considine nodded towards Zoë, sitting at her desk, Beats headphones on, lost in a video playing on her laptop. “After I’ve finished briefing young Zoë. Better prospect than following you around all day.”

Vicky folded her arms. “What are you saying?”

“You’re too old for me.”

“Sure she’s not too young?” Vicky shook her head and sat at her desk, throwing her coat on the back of her chair. She scowled at Zoë. “I was looking for you earlier.”

No response.

“Zoë, I was looking for you before lunch.”

Nothing.

Vicky tugged at her t-shirt. “Zoë?”

She jumped. “Shit. Sorry.” She tugged her headphones off, dumping them on the desk. She stabbed her finger in the direction of her laptop. “I found something.” She pressed one of the laptop’s media keys and the video went back to the start.

The screen went dark. A light switched on, revealing the cage in the industrial unit.

Vicky pressed a finger against the screen. “Is this Rachel and Paul?”

Zoë nodded. “Think so.”

The camera focused on Paul as he staggered around in the cage, gagged and smeared with excrement.

Rachel lay on her front behind him, staring into space.

A black leather-gloved finger pointed in front of the camera at Paul. “There he goes. He’s just about ready. You’ll see why they call it doggy style.” The distorted voice was deep — the laptop’s speaker struggled to replicate the sound.

Another voice with the same effect but slightly higher. “Right.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

The camera moved closer to the cage. The hand reached out and started rattling the frame. “Go on, boy, get it up her.” The hand pointed at the cage. “What’s he doing?”

“This is a bit too cruel.”

“They’re animals. There’s nothing cruel about this.” The gloved hand rattled the cage again.

Paul glowered and bared his teeth at the camera.

The video bleached white with a loud clicking sound then shot back to darkness before recovering the image of them in the cage. The clicking came again but the hand was by the cage now. There was a Taser at the bottom of the shot.

“Don’t make me use this again.”

Paul’s gaze moved from the Taser to his sister as she lay prone in the cage. He started breathing faster, on the edge of
hyperventilation
.

“Christ’s sake. We’ll never get these two to breed at this rate.” The Taser sparked again — the gloved hand held it jammed against the bars. The voice kept laughing throughout, the sound deep and unnatural.

The camera tracked Rachel crawling to the far corner of the cage, tucking herself into a foetal position.

“Want to be a good boy?”

Paul glared at the camera again, a primal moan coming from his chest.

The screen froze on Paul’s wide eyes staring at the camera. Text appeared across the image.

Dog Breeding Is Evil.

Siblings don’t have a choice whether they’re bred with each other.

The
1
0,000 pugs in the UK have the genetic diversity of 50
individuals
.

Meanwhile, 9,000 dogs a year are put down because homes can’t be found.

The video ended.

Head spinning, Vicky turned to Zoë. “Where did you find this?”

“I was up in the Forensics area. Got speaking to one of the guys and he helped me with a few things. I got this on the dark net.”

“Who posted it?”

“I’m not sure we’ll find out.” Zoë sniffed. “The dark net’s all about hiding. It’s designed for pirates and child pornographers avoiding people like us. While we’re getting better at catching people, it’s not as simple as some idiot tweeting racist shit at Stan
Collymore
. These are people who love to hide.”

Vicky tapped the laptop screen. “Can you do anything with the voices?”

“They’re scrambled, ma’am.”

“Can you descramble them?”

“I’ll try. Anything else?”

“Just find whoever posted it.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

F
orrester swallowed as the video finished on the screen in his office. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He looked over at Vicky. “You told us there was a camera, didn’t you?”

“Paul thought there might have been one.”

“This isn’t good.” Forrester stretched his back out before frowning at MacDonald. “You think this is terrorism, Mac?”

“Not sure, sir. Dark net, right?”

“Aye.”

“Until about ten minutes ago, I doubt any of us knew it even existed.”

“Vicky?”

“If they’re posting it there, they’re preaching to the converted. Terrorists don’t tend to do that.”

“Go on.”

“I’m struggling to see why they’d go to the bother of doing this video, only to release it to a small group. I don’t know how many people will see that but it’s not exactly spreading their
message, i
s it?”

“Nothing about this makes sense to me.” Forrester leaned further back in his chair. “What was the flashing thing?”

“It’s a Taser overloading the sensor on the camera.” Vicky handed him a print Zoë had obtained. “If you remove the cartridge it doesn’t send the spikes out, just acts like a cattle prod. Paul Joyce thought they were using a cattle prod.”

“Unbelievable.” Forrester took a deep breath. “Who did this?”

“We don’t know, sir. I’ve got Zoë checking just now.”

“Just as well we got her in.” Forrester drummed on the desk. “Let’s get back to the real world. Did the CCTV at Dryburgh show anything, Mac?”

“Nothing so far, sir. Likely be Monday before we get anywhere.”

“And the street teams?”

“Nothing so far on that, either.”

“So, we’ve got nothing?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Bloody hell.” Forrester sat up again. “How’s the Fife case review going?”

MacDonald scowled. “Not well. This DC Reed guy documented everything, and I mean
everything
. Considering it was a relatively minor crime at the time, they really went to town.”

“Nothing wrong with that, Sergeant. At least we won’t have to open old wounds if we get a link.” Forrester scratched the back of his head. “So we reckon it’ll be Monday before we’ve got a decent picture of the case?”

MacDonald nodded. “And that’s with most of our team working this weekend.”

“Christ, as if my OT bill isn’t high enough already.”

There was a knock on the door.

Zoë stood there, clutching her laptop and tugging her hair round her ear. “I think I’ve got something useful.”

Forrester motioned towards the third chair in front of his desk, between Vicky and MacDonald. “Have a seat. Zoë, is it?”

“It is, sir.” She perched on the front of the chair, laptop resting on her knees. “I’ve found IP addresses of seven users of the forum the video was posted on.”

Forrester leaned forward, arms folded. “So we can trace them?”

“Yes, sir. No messing about — this is genuine. I’ve had them double-checked by Edinburgh and the Met.”

“So, one of these people posted the video?”

Zoë bit her lip. “No. These are users of the forum it was posted in. It’s a message chain called
Animal Rites
— as in last rites — on a forum called xbeast. These are people who’ve posted comments.”

“Right, right. Do you know who posted the video?”

Zoë shook her head. “No, sir. That’s still masked. Can’t get through it. Doubt I ever will.”

“Go on, then. These seven people you’ve found?”

“I’ve got three in the Dundee area and four in Fife.”

“At least they’re local, I suppose. Mac, can you get the Fife boys on it?”

“Will do, sir.”

Forrester leaned forward. “Tell me about the Dundee three.”

Zoë checked her laptop. “Two users have the same IP. I’ve traced it to a location on the Perth Road. The other is matched to a flat in the Hilltown.”

Forrester got to his feet, hands in pockets. “Vicky, can you do the Hilltown? Mac, can you do the Perth Road once you’ve told our Fife cousins what’s what?”

“Will do, sir.”

Forrester patted Zoë on the shoulder as he passed. “Thanks for this. This is so good I’m going to report it to Raven in person right now.” He left them in the room.

Zoë closed her laptop, fingers tight around the case. “Does he touch everyone like that?”

Vicky laughed as she got up. “Believe me, it’s a good sign.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

V
icky waited in Considine’s car, looking down the Hilltown. They were parked by a patch of waste ground across from a bookie’s and two takeaways. “That it over there?”

Considine checked his notebook then nodded. “That’s the address Zoë gave us.”

“Sheltered housing?”

“Aye.”

A panda car pulled in a couple of spaces over from them.

Vicky got out and walked over, crunching across the loose gravel.

“Vicky Dodds.”

Vicky nodded recognition at PC Woods. “Afternoon, Colin.”

“Afternoon.” Woods thumbed in the car at his colleague. “This is PC Soutar.” Then he gave her the up and down. “Lost my wife, have you?”

“Karen’s back at the station. I’ve got a new monkey to dance when I grind the organ.”

Considine scowled at her. “I resent that.”

“Just keep your mouth shut and don’t stop dancing, Stephen.”

Woods got out of the car and took off his hat. “So what’re you needing proper coppers for this time?”

“We’ve traced an IP address to a Brian Morton.” Vicky got out her notebook, waving it in the direction of the flats. “We understand he lives in the ground floor flat there.”

Woods grinned at his colleague. “This is the sort of muck detectives get up to while we’re doing the proper work.”

Soutar nodded. “So I see.”

Vicky narrowed her eyes at them. “We need to bring him in for questioning, that’s all. I just need you to help apprehend him.”

Soutar frowned. “You got a warrant?”

“Just had it approved, aye.”

Woods rubbed his hands together. “Lead the way then, Vicks.”

Vicky walked back to the street and traced the line of the road down the hill. The flat entrance was on Ann Street, a dark wood door with a ramp leading up. She pressed the buzzer for flat two, holding it for a few seconds.

“Yo?”

Vicky raised an eyebrow at Considine, who glanced away. “This is the police. We need access to your property.”

“Not without a warrant.”

“We’re in possession of a warrant to access this property. We’re looking for a Brian Morton.”

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

Vicky pressed the buzzer again. The door clicked open. She nodded at the door. “Come on.”

Inside, a man stood in the doorway to flat two, muscular arms folded. Navy jeans with a shirt and jumper combo. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “How can I help?”

Vicky flashed her warrant card. “Can we come in?”

The man shook his head. “Not until I see that search warrant of yours.”

Vicky handed it over. “Mr Morton, we’ve got reason to believe you’re involved in a kidnapping.”

He licked his lips. “This isn’t me.”

“Aren’t you Brian Morton?”

“I’m just visiting. That’s my brother.”

“What’s going on, John?” A buzzing came from the hall behind. A mobility scooter appeared with a morbidly obese man sitting on it, his jowls sagging, the fabric of his shell suit stretched tight.

“It’s the police, Brian.” John Morton lowered his head to his brother. “Have you been an idiot on the internet again?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

V
icky sat in the interview room, staring at the lawyer. “Ms 
Nelson
-Caird, your client needs to start co-operating with us.”

Kelly Nelson-Caird looked to be in her mid-thirties, her mouth seeming to lag behind her brain. She tapped a finger on the table. “Mr Morton hasn’t committed a crime, Sergeant.”

Vicky glanced at Considine, who was still silent as instructed. “If you’ll let him speak, I might be able to determine that for myself.”

“Very well.” Nelson-Caird snorted. “Can you please outline the offences you believe my client
may
have committed?”

Vicky laid her hands on the table and focused on Brian. He was heavily out of breath and sweat dripped from his lank hair, only adding to the stench. She didn’t want him to keel over there and then but he clearly knew something. “Very well.”

Nelson-Caird sat back and folded her arms. “Please continue.”

Vicky leaned forward on both elbows. “Mr Morton, we’ve brought you in for questioning because your internet account was used to access a message board called xbeast. In particular, it accessed a user forum called
Animal Rites
. Are you following me?”

Brian nodded, his mouth twitching.

Vicky massaged her left temple. “The message board in question had a video posted on it. The footage related to a crime we’re currently investigating. One of the users who posted a comment to the video was you.”

Brian shifted his head around, not letting it settle in one
position
. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr Morton, please look at me.”

Brian angled his head slightly. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Vicky produced a sheet of paper. “This shows a trace on that account back to your IP address.”

Brian picked it up. “This doesn’t prove anything. You can mask IP addresses.”

“So you do know a bit about computers?”

Brian swallowed. “A bit.”

“You’re quite correct.” Vicky leaned back in her chair. “My analyst tells me this IP address was masked. That said, we’re getting very good at defeating the masking, apparently — I’m not particularly technical, but she tells me they can work out the originating IP address. They can even work out if that’s masked as well. Can you believe that?”

Nelson-Caird frowned. “Are you insisting my client is here as a result of a trace on an IP address?”

Vicky nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Which you yourself admit may have been tampered with.”

“It was most definitely tampered with and we have a full audit trail, right back to the originating node.”

“And you know it’s completely accurate?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Someone could be posting on there and making it point to my client. They could be putting a smokescreen up to implicate Mr Morton here. It’s completely inconclusive that my client is behind either the masking or the account.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” Vicky felt sweat trickle down the back of her blouse. “Mr Morton, what were you doing on that forum?”

“I don’t know what forum you’re talking about.”

“Fine.” Vicky took a moment to consider her next step, the nerve in her neck stinging. “What were your movements on Wednesday evening?”

“I’m housebound.” Brian tapped his wheelchair. “The only reason I’m here is because you removed me from my mobility scooter and put me in this.”

“And yet here you are.”

Brian’s breathing quickened. “I was in hospital on Wednesday afternoon. Ask my brother.”

“You do know that housebound means never leaving the house.” Vicky ran her tongue along her teeth. “What were you doing in hospital?”

“I was having a check-up.”

“What for?”

Brian looked at the lawyer, almost pleading with her. Nelson-Caird just shrugged. He focused his gaze on the table. “I’m getting a gastric band fitted. It was a check-up to make sure my body’s still ready for it.”

“And this accounts for your whereabouts?”

Brian nodded. “Yes. I was in all afternoon.”

“Can I have the name of the surgeon?”

Brian gripped the handles of the wheelchair tight. “John
will know.”

“Fine.” Vicky took a note to ask. “And what about this afternoon? I’m interested in the time between two and two thirty.”

“I was at home, having lunch.”

“Were you using your computer?”

Brian let out a sigh.

“Mr Morton, we can check with your internet provider.”

Brian wiped his brow, now soaked with sweat. “Yes, I was.”

Vicky picked up the sheet of paper and turned it over. “You didn’t post a message saying
‘They got what was coming 2 them LOL’
?”

“No.”

“You didn’t post a reply saying
‘PMSL’
to a post saying
‘Wouldn’t take one of their pups!’
?”

Brian shook his head. “No.”

“Mr Morton, you’re under caution. This will be admissible in court.”

Nelson-Caird licked her lips, smudging her lipstick. She leaned across and whispered in his ear.

Brian shook his head. “But I didn’t do it.”

“Could anyone else have access to your computer?”

“No.”

“What about your brother?”

Brian laughed. “John doesn’t even know how to turn it on, let alone put an HTTP tunnel in.”

Nelson-Caird rubbed her forehead. “Sergeant, can we pause this interview, please?”

“Interview terminated at sixteen oh nine.” Vicky reached forward and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder. “If that’s how you want to play it, Mr Morton, then I’m not sure you’re prepared for what’s going to happen next.”

Brian hit his hand on the desk. “This is persecution.”

“Of what?”

“Of obese people.”

“It’s not a hate crime, Mr Morton. Besides, I’m not aware of persecuting you. I’ve asked you questions relating to your internet usage, which appears to link to a crime we’re investigating.” Vicky got to her feet and left the room. She led Considine down the
corridor
. “Any idea what PMSL stands for, Stephen?”

“Pissing Myself Laughing.”

“Shouldn’t it be PML?”

Considine shrugged. “Americans.”

“Come on. Let’s speak to his brother.”