The Electrician's Code Read online

  Where was the one that said, I know you don’t remember who I am and don’t love me anymore, but when I look at you, I remember. I remember how happy we were together and I know I still love you. Where was that card?

  For their six year anniversary, his wife had been unconscious and hanging on for dear-life after getting in a car accident. He had got her a card and laid it by her side in the hospital but in the end, it went in the box with all the other cards she had received. She never read it. For their seventh, he bought her a card but ended up stuffing it in his sock drawer. Though she was making a fine physical recovery, she still couldn’t remember anything about her past and they were as good as strangers.

  He actually considered not getting her a card this year. Although they were talking now, and she had begun to display the same sweet personality she had when he fell in love, he just wasn’t sure she would appreciate the gesture.

  He took all three and stuffed them behind a random card.

  His mobile rang and he reached for it on his belt. It was his boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Deveau. “Good morning, sir.”

  “You sound chipper this morning, Blackwell.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He wasn’t chipper but he didn’t feel like correcting his boss so he let the matter drop. “I’m optimistic your call will take me from the last few days of doldrums to an exciting new case?”

  “You solve one really high-profile case and now you’re never satisfied. Yes, you will be happy to know that a man died for your enjoyment this morning.”

  “Wonderful,” he said ignoring his boss’s sarcasm and pulled a Biro from his coat pocket. It was true, a lot had changed since he solved his first homicide. And really, he had Sophia Evans to thank for it, even though she wanted no recognition.

  He hadn’t seen Sophia since the week after they arrested the man they were after, and although he knew where she lived and had her mobile number, he made no attempts to contact her. And to his knowledge, she hadn’t made any attempts either.

  One day she was in his life, the next, she disappeared. And he had to respect her wishes.

  “Would you like the address?” his boss asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  When Theo couldn’t find a piece of paper, he walked an aisle over and picked up a small notebook. “Can you repeat that, sir?”

  As he began to write down some instructions, an extra loud announcement blared over the speaker above his head. He heard nothing.

  “Where are you, Blackwell, the Underground?”

  “Actually, at a Tesco. Sorry, come again, what was the address?”

  “You’re shopping at eight in the morning? Doesn’t your mother do that for you?”

  “Looking for something, is all. I’ll be at the scene ASAP. Have they got the scene under control?”

  “Everyone has been dispatched. You’ll find this case interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Four

  On the path leading from a small house on Connell Road in Ealing, Queen of the Suburbs, laid a man in his bathrobe. The victim had his eyes opened and might have been mistaken for cloud watching if it wasn’t for the pool of blood beneath him. A gray steel walking frame and a neatly folded newspaper were at his feet. No, foot. The man only had one leg.

  The brick house that belonged to the deceased was two-story with large windows. It had a small yard out front. The lawn and hedges neatly trimmed. The white wooden fence, recently painted.

  Theo looked up and down the street. The crime scene was loud and hectic. A crowd had gathered behind the crime scene tape. Only a handful of uniform officers were there to keep control. Amateur photographers pushed the tape boundaries hoping to snap the best shot.

  Children ran to the first floor of their neighbor’s homes where they could get a view of the dead body, while mothers were doing all they could to keep their children away from the tape. A group of older men were huddled together debating whether this was the first of many attacks to come on the old men in the neighborhood and what was the world coming to. Old women were huddled debating who had seen the most from their planter-covered windows and discussing the theories they had in which to enlighten the police.

  “Are you the SIO?”

  Theo turned around to face a short, pudgy uniformed officer whose blond hair was cropped short. “I am.”

  He took out his warrant card and displayed his credentials. The young officer just stood there.

  “And who are you?” asked Theo.

  “I’m PC Barry Borders. I was the first to arrive on scene, but I didn’t touch the body, and I made sure no one else touched the body. To make sure there were no other victims, I entered the house, but I didn’t touch anything there either—except the door handle, I had to touch the door handle, but I used gloves. No one was inside. The deceased is Maddock Tipring, sixty-two. I don’t really know how he died. Perhaps he had a heart attack while fetching the newspaper. But, I didn’t touch the body.”

  “That’s perfect, Borders. Good job.”

  Just then, a small child of around eight years brushed past Theo’s leg. With a swift grab of the school bag attached to the boy’s shoulders, Theo yanked him back.

  “Sorry, sir,” said another officer who was running after the boy.

  Bending down to meet the boy at eye level, Theo asked, “Where is your mum, lad?”

  The wide-eyed boy pointed in the direction of a woman intently capturing the scene on her mobile phone camera. Theo dragged the boy to his mother and confiscated the phone out of her hand. “Are you the crime scene photographer?”

  “No—”

  “Then I suggest you do your job which is taking care of your son. He is yours, I presume?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry,” she replied roughly, drawing her son near to her. Theo handed her phone back.

  “Are you trying to traumatize your son? You understand your son almost saw a dead body? Do you know what happens then?” Theo continued as the woman shook her head, “They grow up to be teenagers with emotional problems, and when life doesn’t turn out for them like they think is fair, they blame their mothers, who they guilt into spending lots of money to support them for the rest of their miserable lives. Can you afford that? If not, try taking more care of you son. Thank you.” He returned to the dead man.

  “Were there any witnesses, Borders?” asked Theo.

  “Ah, no sir, but we’re questioning the neighbors and bystanders now. So far no one has heard or seen anything. No one even heard him scream. Maybe he couldn’t, I don’t know. Apparently, though, his neighbors say it was his habit to pick up the newspaper every morning. According to the nurse, it was something he wanted to do for himself. Made him feel useful, I suppose. As you can see, he is . . . was disabled.”

  “Yes, I think I can see,” Theo said, ignoring his comment. “Who found the body?”

  Looking down at his pad, the officer replied, “A Mr. Carlin Dowridge. He was walking past the house on the way to work, saw the body, and called the police from his mobile. He says he only touched the body to check for a pulse.”

  “Where is Mr. Dowridge?”

  “He had to be at work by eight because he works at a local school, but I made him stay in case you wanted to talk with him, and I wrote down all his information.” He held his notebook in Theo’s face.

  Theo pushed the notebook aside. “What time did the witness notice the deceased?”

  “About a quarter to eight. He said he almost didn’t notice him because the bushes hid him. When he walked past the fence, he noticed the Zimmer frame. I guess that was when he saw the body. Thought the man had a heart attack or something.”

  “Does he live nearby?”

  “He lives on this road by but two streets down.” Borders pointed in the direction. “He gave us his address.”

  “Did he enter the house?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He said the man looked dead—with all the blood—and so after he rang the polic
e, he just waited and that was all.”

  Theo nodded.

  “The victim’s nurse arrived only a few minutes ago. She’s pretty distraught.” Borders pointed to a woman in a nurse’s uniform that was standing with an officer a few feet away. “The liaison officer hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “All right,” said Theo. “When you checked the house, did you speak to the people who let the upstairs flat?”

  “I knocked on the door of the flat upstairs. No one answered. I suppose the nurse will know if that upstairs flat is let or not.”

  “Listen, you have done an excellent job so far. Don’t let any officers in the house or around the property until Scene of Crime Officers arrive. If this is a murder and the killer went into the house, I don’t want any of the evidence destroyed. SOCO will be furious if we disturb the crime scene any more than we need to.” The officer nodded and left, Theo turned around searching the crowd.

  Finally, the Scene of Crime Unit arrived. Men jumped out of the vans, donned suits, and stormed the house and body, taking pictures and picking up evidence. He took his mobile from his pocket and dialed his partner, Detective Inspector Dorland’s number. Straight to voicemail. Dorland better be on his way.

  Chapter Five

  At exactly seven minutes to nine, Sophia pulled up in front of a block of flats in the East End of London. What was she getting herself into? Any ideas Liam entertained only complicated her life. She loved sitting behind a desk analyzing and decrypting information. Why couldn’t he accept that? He was convinced she sought more than her desk job. Three weeks ago, he insisted she begin firearms training and she almost used him for target practice.

  When she got out of her Merc, she looked around the car park but she couldn’t see Liam’s car anywhere. Five teenage boys stood between her and the red brick building. One looked her up and down while he took a puff of his fag and blew the smoke in her direction. She slammed her door and pressed the fob until she heard the short honks. Why didn’t she bring the Fiat? Clutching her bag tightly to her chest, she made her way forward.

  She considered finding another entrance but she knew she had no choice. Only one way to enter the building without a key—through the front door. Raising her chin, she walked right up to where the boys were standing and said, “Excuse me.”

  The boys separated, allowing her to pass.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiled at them and made her way through. She had to pass by them so closely she could smell the strong odor of smoke wafting from their clothes.

  A few steps later, she heard one of the boys reply, “Nice car.”

  Liam would pay if her car was missing when she came out.

  Once inside the front doors, her uneasiness didn’t subside. She didn’t need a key. Anyone could enter provided they could climb over the rubbish all over the floor. A half-eaten rat lay atop a pile of unopened mail in the corner and decomposing bin bags in the confines of the wall of graffiti covered letterboxes. Liam was taking his revenge by exposing her to the Hantavirus.

  As she walked the five flights of stairs to the fifth floor, she pulled her bottle of Mace from her bag. She passed a man lying on the third landing. He opened one eye and growled at her. Sophia climbed a little faster. The overwhelming smells of cannabis and urine made her nauseated. By the time she reached door 523, she felt like vomiting. She rapped sharply on the door and a few seconds later, the door opened.

  A woman she had never seen before stood in the doorway dressed in a simple gray tee and tracksuit bottoms.

  “I’m looking for—” Sophia said but the woman quickly held a finger to her lips.

  The woman stepped aside and motioned Sophia in with her hand. Sophia wanted confirmation that she had at the right address but the urgency of the woman’s movements caused her to silently obey. She found herself in a room smaller than a lift with a closed door ahead of her and one to her right. And the woman shut the door behind her leaving them in the dark. Once enclosed, she opened the door to Sophia’s right and the bright lights blinded her.

  “I’m looking for Liam—”

  Again the woman cut her off, “I know.”

  “Evans,” came Foxton’s voice from the room, “you made it.”

  “What the hell is going on, Liam?”

  Sophia looked around the white-walled room. Tables with monitors and other recording equipment lined the walls. Whiteboards with pictures and diagrams acted as partitions and coat hangers. A standing fan wafted the smells of stale coffee, smoke, and baby powder around the room.

  Then she saw it. “What is my desk doing here? When did you move my things? I’ve only been away from the office—”

  “It’s okay, Evans,” he interrupted.

  “It’s not bloody okay.” She ran over to her desk and looked over her computer and the contents of her drawers. “You took everything . . . in less than five hours. What’s going on here? Am I being transferred? Here? To this hell hole? Is that a blood stain on the carpet?”

  “Maybe,” replied Liam, “but we can clean it, all right?” He came over and grabbed her arms. “In the meantime, why don’t you help yourself to a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t know.”‘ Sophia put her hands on her hips. Although she longed for some soothing liquid, she was worried. “I want to know why I’m being sent here. Is this punishment for the comment last week? Is this where you take people and shoot them?” She pointed to the stain on the carpet.

  “Relax,” he replied. “It’s nothing like that. Come, let’s fetch you a cup of coffee.”

  “Am I going to be able to use the loo?”

  “Yes of course, didn’t you see the loo when you came in?”

  “The other door,” the unnamed woman replied pointing to the entrance.

  “By the way, this is Melony Howe. She will meet you here every morning at nine. She works the night shift from 1:00 a.m. to nine with another officer.”

  “I have to stay here until one in the morning? I’m not leaving this flat in the middle of the night.” Her voice came out louder than she had hoped.

  “Whoa, sweetheart,” Liam replied sarcastically. “You have to calm down. You leave at five. Office hours. Now, come, I’m getting you a coffee. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?” He got behind her and pushed her into the small kitchen attached to the room. The only thing on the worktop was a coffee pot, a box of white sugar, and a used spoon.

  “Don’t be condescending. You could’ve told me what to expect last night. You didn’t have to pull this stunt.”

  Liam reached into a cupboard and took a foam cup from the stack. “Just milk, right?” She nodded and placed her bag on the worktop. He handed her a carton from the fridge and she poured it in.

  “What am I doing here?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  “It’s only surveillance. You don’t have to go undercover or even leave the flat. Simple watching, listening, and reporting. You can even work on your other cases while you’re here.”

  Sophia took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. “How old is this?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only arrived twenty minutes ago.”

  She dumped the contents of her cup down the sink and opened cupboards until she found the things necessary to make more coffee. “How long is this assignment? Days that will turn into weeks that will eventually turn into months? Am I unwittingly going to have to shoot Melony—”

  “Melony.”

  “To shoot Melony in a few months after I form a close bond with her? I’m not trained for surveillance any more than I was trained for undercover. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

  “We’re short staffed at the moment. You’re not the only analyst out of the office and in the field.” He led her to a whiteboard beside her desk that contained photos of men and women taped to it. He pointed to a picture on the far right of the board. “Listen, this is important. The man here is Mychajlo Placko, head of a Ukrainian crime fam
ily. He’s shipping guns into the UK. That we know.”

  He moved his hand to the far left of the board, past a photo of a man and another of a woman, following an arrow leading to a white page with a large question mark. “This is our target, and as of now, he—or she—remains anonymous. We have tried to trace the money trail with no success.” Moving right, he jabbed at the face of the woman. “She, in between the unknown and Placko, is Elaine Smith—probably not her real name—and she is the woman who gives the money from unknown man to one of Placko’s men—a man known as Miles.” He tapped the man’s photo to the right. “Elaine lives in a house across the street, number 412. We can follow the money trail but we have no idea who’s buying the guns and how the unknown man receives the guns. After handing over the money, Elaine talks to no one.”

  “How does Elaine get the money to give Miles?”

  “It’s all done electronically.”

  “Well, perhaps she sends a message electronically or communicates to someone when she leaves the house to go to the shops.”

  “That may be the case but we haven’t found anything to lead us to the guns. We have a person on her whether she’s in or out, so eventually we’ll figure it out but for now, it’s watching and analyzing. We’ve placed bugs and cameras throughout her flat so we can watch all her movements. It’s only a matter of time before we see how she relays the information to her boss. The interactions take place about every two weeks and it’s been about a week and a half since the last so we need to be on our toes. Knowing who this man is, is vital in keeping Britain safe.”

  As Liam gave her a file with specific instructions, there was another knock at the door. Melony walked to the entranceway and returned with a thin, redheaded woman.

  “Crystal,” Sophia signed in British Sign Language. “You’re assigned here too?”

  Crystal Priestly, Sophia’s aide, came to work for MI5 after being arrested for hacking into HOLMES for information on her missing nephew; she was immediately recruited to the unit. Sophia learned sign language just to communicate with her.