One of Us Is Dead

33 Monday 3 October 2022

Glenn Branson opened the 8.30 a.m. briefing meeting, saying, ‘Unusually in a murder inquiry, we are actually looking for proof of life.’ He smiled and paused for emphasis before continuing. ‘On account of the fact that our prime suspect in Operation Meadow is dead, and has been so for over two years.

‘According to the findings of forensic gait analyst Professor Haydn Kelly, our suspect is a man known as — or perhaps who used to be known as — Rufus Rorke, whose funeral was held over two years ago. But there are two factors for us to consider here. The first being that it was a no-body funeral, and the second that I have found Haydn Kelly to be a reliable expert on the previous occasions when we have used his services. If Professor Kelly says this man in the supermarket is Rufus Rorke, then there’s a good probability he is — certainly enough to take it very seriously. If we add to that the findings from JJ Jackson’s Met Police Facial Recognition software and the school links from the association charts, then it is fairly compelling evidence.’

Will Glover spoke up. ‘Sir, is it not possible this man in the Organica supermarket could be a twin — Rorke’s twin?’

Branson shook his head. ‘That’s already been ruled out by the professor, Will. Our suspect walks with a limp, which the professor believes is likely to be the result of leg shortening following a fracture. It’s highly unlikely an identical twin, even if there is one, would have the same injury. But it’s a good question to raise.’

The DC looked pleased with his praise.

Grace brought the team up to date on his conversations with the yacht captain, Richard Le Quesne, and with the crew member, Lance Sharpus-Jones.

‘Sounds pretty convincing, boss,’ Glenn Branson said. ‘But do you think we should check them out further?’

Grace nodded. Branson then turned to the financial investigator, Emily Denyer. ‘Emily, I’d like you to take a good look at the finances of Richard Le Quesne and Lance Sharpus-Jones. We need to see if either — or both — of them had any regular payments into their bank accounts. And if they could be traced back to Rorke — as bribes. An issue we will have is Bitcoins, which we know Rorke was very familiar with — and perhaps other cybercurrencies.’

‘I discovered something last night, sir,’ she said. ‘Which may be significant. In the month before Rorke went overboard, he liquidated shares to the value of approximately £9 million, through the wealth management company Baker Stewart, of which he was a high-net-worth client. He then appears to have bought a number of speculative cybercurrencies that roughly equate to this amount.’

‘For what reason, do you think, Emily?’ Glenn Branson asked.

‘There are different reasons people buy blockchain currency — cryptocurrency — sir. The legitimate one is investors speculating with it. Criminals use it because it’s almost impossible to trace the transactions. Instead of the cash being held in a conventional bank account, where you have an account number and a sort code, you get a crypto-wallet — say a Bitcoin one, which can be between twenty-five and thirty-five alphanumeric digits long. That is where your money is, and that code is your only way of retrieving it. Lose the code and you’ve lost your money — for ever — there’s no other way to retrieve it and no friendly bank manager you can speak to.’

Branson frowned. ‘But that’s crazy.’

Denyer shook her head. ‘You and I might think so, sir. But if we wanted to hide transactions from the police then it’s a brilliant way to do it. The only way I could see what Rufus Rorke has done with his nine million pounds of cryptocurrency is if I had the code. There is no bank manager I could speak to. No one. The codes are the only thing.’

‘And where do you find those?’ Branson asked.

‘On his computer — or smart phone. That’s the only way.’

‘Presumably you haven’t?’

‘If he did go overboard from the yacht, the chances are his phone would have gone with him. If his crypto-wallet was on it, it could well be lost for good.’

‘Nine million smackers?’ Potting said.

‘Yes, the lot.’

‘A nice little haul for Davey Jones’s locker,’ Potting said.

‘Meaning what, Norman?’ Velvet Wilde challenged.

‘Puts a whole new meaning on money down the drain, doesn’t it?’ he replied. ‘I may not be as rich as Rufus Rorke but at least when I log on to check my bank balance, I don’t get told all my money is at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.’

‘OK,’ Grace said. ‘Let’s see if Le Quesne or Sharpus-Jones’s bank accounts take us any further forward.’

Will Glover put his hand up. ‘What about if either of them has a crypto-wallet? Which Emily cannot access?’

Potting butted in. ‘In which cases, young William, we are Donald Ducked.’

This time everyone, including Grace, grinned.

‘OK, I want you all to look at the screen,’ Grace said, pressing a button on the remote control and turning to look himself.

It showed the blind man walking along crowded Western Road, heading east towards the Organica store, with the time log in the top right-hand corner. Then walking back from the store just over twenty minutes later.

‘If I was blind,’ commented Norman Potting, ‘I wouldn’t go out shopping in the middle of the day when it’s all crowded. I’d go in the night, in darkness. Wouldn’t make any difference, would it?’

‘That’s cruel, Norman,’ Velvet Wilde said.

Grace ignored the handful of titters and glared at him. ‘Not very helpful, but thank you for the tip, Norman.’

‘Always, chief,’ he replied cheekily.

Addressing the team, Grace said, ‘I sent this footage to Professor Kelly for analysis very early this morning, because I have a feeling this blind man is in disguise, and is in fact, as Norman calls him, our Phantom Mushroom Switcher.’

He went on to explain the blind man’s disappearance from the screen, after he approached the entrance to Organica, and his reappearance twenty minutes later, after Barnie Wallace had emerged. Just as he paused the playback, his job phone buzzed with an incoming text. He glanced down at the screen. It was from JJ Jackson. It said, simply:

Branson turned to Potting. ‘Norman, I need you to drop everything else and go to the city CCTV in the Control Room — with Will. Get all the controllers in there looking for this blind man, tell them about the disguises and the way he walks. We need to track him, see if we can find where he starts and finishes in Brighton — or Hove. We’ve got over five hundred cameras covering the city, there can’t be that many blind men with black Labradors.’

‘Got to feel a bit sorry for the poor bastard, haven’t you?’ Norman Potting said.

‘Sorry?’ Jack Alexander asked.

Potting nodded. ‘Bad enough being dead, but to be blind as well? That’s a real bummer.’