Three Hours(55)
Six grand, a lot of cash, but Dad drives a new Jeep, Mum a new Mini convertible, holidays in Chile; a teacher’s told them a rumour about the family losing all their money, a rumour that is patently false. Their son clearly had a fair whack in the bank to go shopping for rifles and semi-automatics.
‘Did Victor do all this on the regular net?’ Rose asks Lysander.
‘Yes. A Gmail account. Google searches. Inspire is easily found on a basic Google search, with a PDF download on how to make a bomb, open to anyone. The Anarchist’s Cookbook has an Amazon sales ranking and blurb telling you that it has illustrated chapters on the home preparation of weapons and explosives. It probably provides the ingredients on a dropdown menu.’
‘How hard was it for you to access his computer?’ Rose asks.
‘No security at all, and it auto-filled his passwords on every site.’
‘Too easy,’ Rose says.
She thinks of the rifle shots to misdirect them away from the semi-automatics.
‘I think the obvious information could be a decoy for what he didn’t want found,’ she says.
‘I’ll look for what he’s hiding,’ Lysander says.
And it’s not just the rifles, it’s using his own mobile, not a burner, his mother’s car parked in full view. Rose thinks he enjoys playing them; likes being cleverer than they are.
‘I think Victor Deakin wants to feel superior and in control of us,’ she says to Dannisha. ‘I think we could use that. We play to his ego.’
‘Okay, let’s try,’ Dannisha says. She types
I really want to know all about you Victor. Tell me why you want to do this.
Moments later Victor texts back.
You wouldn’t understand moron
Can you explain it to me?
Waste of time you’re all cretins fucking retards
I’d really like to hear what you’ve got to say.
Just said, waste of fuckin time cretin
I want to know what’s going on inside your head.
Yeah right, like you’ll get it
He’s texting back quickly now, caught up in it.
You’re clever then?
Don’t fucking patronize me
Rose types and Dannisha nods.
Have you got Jamie Alton?
Would you like to know?
Yes. Will you tell me?
Ok
Twenty seconds later another text from Victor.
Not yet
They wait, but no more texts come through. Rose’s team have been focusing on their own work, not allowing themselves to be distracted, and Rose is impressed with them.
Thandie puts down her phone. ‘Malin Cohen’s ex-girlfriend said he’d been loaned a motorbike by a mate.’
A motorbike is easier to hide than a car. Perhaps you could get a motorbike to go off-road on trails through the woods.
‘They’re retrieving Victor’s mobile phone data,’ Amaal says. ‘Not the content but the numbers. We should know who he’s been contacting.’
*
It’s as if the cafeteria has been holding its breath and with the news that it’s Victor Deakin, not terrorists, attacking the school, the room has exhaled. Hannah’s father’s face is no longer pinched tight, his fingers uncurled a little.
And Beth cannot endure their relief, the sharp contrast to her own feelings.
Hannah’s father must realize because he looks at her with kindness. ‘It’s not good news for you?’ he asks; an unselfish, thoughtful man to even notice. She shakes her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
Has Victor hurt you, Jamie?
She cannot bear to think of him hurt. She wills her phone to ring. The windowless cafeteria is closing in on her. Ten minutes till Mike’s train gets in. When she told him about Victor, he made a sound like a cushion being plumped up, a sigh of feathers against air, as if someone had held him up and punched him in all directions, but he didn’t want her to know.
Mike’s mother’s small car can’t get through the snow, so he’s asking a neighbour they barely know to break in through their kitchen window. Jamie could still have left a message on their home landline; hope a soap bubble, untouchably fragile.
‘Victor Deakin’s just getting revenge,’ the father in the Mumford & Sons sweatshirt is saying. ‘He shot the headmaster for not letting him stay at the school. But he’s got no reason to hurt the children.’
This has already been said but it’s as if repeating it will give it more solidity, make it more valid.
‘The police will make him see that, won’t they?’ Antonella’s mother asks, colour back in her face. ‘They’ll reason with him that it’s nothing to do with the children.’
Other voices join in, ‘Of course they will.’
‘He’ll let them go.’
‘He’s got no reason to punish the children.’
‘They’re not a target.’
But Jamie is a target. He’s got a reason to hurt and punish Jamie.
It was the 31st of October, early evening, when she got a call from the police in Exeter saying Jamie had been arrested. Jamie, who’d never even had a detention at his previous, strict school, who’s never even given in his homework late.