The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Thursday, 23rd August. Late afternoon 

Miller stopped waving the page about and placed it on the nearest desk for all to see. The team crowded round, anxious to learn what was so exercising their colleague. In the middle of the page was a wide ellipse with the name DORAN written inside it, followed by two question marks. Pointing towards the ellipse, all around its circumference, were several arrows. A small phrase was scribbled along the length of each arrow. 

"Can you read any of what's written there?" McCullough asked. 

McBride, who was closer, said, "They're little comments indicating why he thinks Doran is a suspect. One says that he's small like the killer. Another says he has a collection of classical fiction, which the killer has obviously studied." 

"There's a couple of useful ones further round," Miller said. "Look! Finger prints on McStravick's case. And there! That little bit of elastic has come from a bandage of some kind." He looked up. "Wasn't Doran wearing some sort of medical support thing on his arm?" 

"This is coming way out of left field," Connors said dubiously. "Doran? Seriously? Didn't he get the livin' crap kicked out of him? I think the chief is reaching a bit here, desperate for a suspect." 

"You're right about left f-f-field," McNeill agreed. "Complete sh-sh-shock to me. But this is the chief. He s-s-sees things we never see." 

"He's got me convinced," Miller said, reading a few more of the comments. 

 "Okay! Okay! The bastard's the killer," Allen interrupted, clearly still wound up. "We're wasting valuable time arguing about it. The real question is, where do we even start to look for him?"

 Anxious eyes continued to stare at the page as if seeking inspiration. 

"Okay," McBride said. "Let's apply a little logic to the situation. What sort of space would he need if he has two kidnapped detectives with him?" 

"Not his office, that's for sure," McCullough said. "Anybody could walk in." 

"And if he wants peace and time to do whatever it is he's planning, it won't be outside either," Connors said. "Even a small wood or a field, anybody could come walkin' along." 

"He'll need somewhere quiet where he's unlikely to be disturbed," McBride offered. "And he's going to need a while. According to that poem he wrote, he's working on some scenario that'll take a bit of time." 

"The judge's h-h-house," McNeill shouted. "That's still t-t-taped off, but he has his own key. He won't be d-d-disturbed there." 

"I think that's it, Geoff," Allen said excitedly, already moving. "Right! Let's go." 

"Hold on, Tom," Miller said. "There are other options." 

"Like what?" Allen was almost truculent. 

"Well, Doran will be assuming that no one suspects him. He could be at his own apartment. Nobody's likely to go there either. He'd have all the time he needs." 

"Oh!" Allen was torn. He could see that Miller's suggestion made sense. "We're going to have to split up," he said. 

"There might be one other place," McBride said, a touch hesitantly. "Maybe I'm barking way up a wrong tree, but didn't the blog imply that the victim was going to have to choose between two people. Maybe Mrs Sheehan is also involved. What if Doran had already gone to the chief's house and kidnapped her? If he phoned the chief and said he has his wife, I mean, he'd drop everything and run. He wouldn't stop for a second."

Miller clicked his fingers, saying at the same time. "A pound to a penny that's why he hasn't contacted us. Doran's threatened Mrs. Sheehan in some way, forcing the chief to keep schtum."

"Don't forget he's got Denise with him," Allen cut in. "She's in danger, too." 

"Don't worry, Tom," McNeill said. "She can l-l-look after herself." 

"Aye, like the judge, and Stevens, and even that brute McStravick, looked after themselves," Allen snapped back. "This mad man is fiendishly clever. If he's got them...." He didn't finish the sentence. 

At that point Connors' desk phone rang. He rushed to pick it up. "Harry?" He listened for a few minutes, his expression a mixture of puzzlement and concern. "Thanks, Harry. Talk soon," he said, hanging up. "The chief's car is already back in the compound. Some guy drove it in a couple of minutes ago. Apparently, the chief flagged him down, grabbed the guy's keys and gave him the keys to the police car." 

"Bastard," Miller said. "Nemein knew we could track its GPS. He must be holding something serious over the chief to make him do something like that." 

"What was the guy driving?" Allen asked impatiently. 

"A black Audi Sport. Number plate DLA 3497. Harry already has the word out to watch for it."

 "Okay," Miller said decisively. "Tom, you and Geoff go to the judge's house. McBride and the sarge will go to Doran's apartment. Declan and I will go to the boss's place."

 Allen was already heading for the door, shouting over his shoulder. "And the first one to learn anything, phone the rest of us immediately. Come, Geoff. Let's go."