The Killer’s Mark (Washington Poe #8)

Prologue

When Vice Admiral Boyer, RN (retd) died without leaving a will, through the laws of intestacy his estranged daughter, Wendy, inherited his estate.

It was not inconsiderable. The vice admiral was descended from money and he had invested it wisely, primarily in companies that had gone on to win lucrative defence contracts.

Wendy hadn’t seen her father for thirty years. Not since he’d attended her mother’s funeral with a woman half his age. Wendy had left the UK and made a life for herself in Japan, where she’d co-founded a high-tech vertical farming business.

When her father’s solicitor called to say the vice admiral had passed away from a pulmonary embolism, her response had been ‘Let that little tramp sort everything out.’ Her solicitor explained that the ‘little tramp’ hadn’t been on the scene for a decade, and as she was Vice Admiral Boyer, RN (retd)’s only living relative, if she didn’t claim the estate, the Crown would.

Only Wendy could do that.

So now she was in her father’s private study, which still looked like a shrine to Royal Naval exploits over the last five hundred years, with a safe technician called Matt Gresswell.

Matt was from the company that had made and fitted the safe.

He had checked his company’s bereavement process and confirmed he was authorised to unlock the safe.

Which he did in seconds as he knew the serial number so had brought the correct key with him.

When the safe was unlocked, he stepped back and allowed Wendy to open the door.

The safe was mostly empty. There were papers relating to investments that she handed over to her father’s solicitor, and a box of her mother’s jewellery that she would keep. There was a bundle of cash, not more than five thousand pounds, and a first-edition Emily Dickinson. The usual stuff.

There was also something she didn’t recognise.

A slim metal box.

It was the size of a hardback book and looked modern. A small shield was etched on what Wendy assumed was the top. Next to it was a keypad. One to nine. She stared at it in confusion, then passed it to the solicitor. He didn’t know what it was either.

But Matt Gresswell did.

‘It’s an AegisBox,’ he said. ‘A portable storage device. Extremely secure. They’re used to transport sensitive information.’

‘A safe within a safe,’ Wendy said. ‘How my father liked his secrets. I wonder if he left a will after all.’ The thought didn’t displease her. She found the idea of going through his belongings repulsive. ‘Can we get the code to open it? I have a flight out tonight.’

Matt shook his head. ‘You won’t get the code to open an AegisBox,’ he said. ‘They’re issued by the military. They won’t give the code to a civilian in case there are things inside that could compromise national security.’

‘My father was a vice admiral in the Royal Navy,’ Wendy said. ‘He sometimes worked from home. He must have been issued with it. Forgot to hand it back when he retired.’

‘Or he was gifted it as a leaving present,’ Matt suggested.

‘That would make sense,’ the solicitor said. ‘He was on the board of seventeen defence contractors. And given how closely the public and private sectors work on weapons development, the navy gifting him one of these was a shrewd move. Defence contractor secrets often become military secrets.’

‘That’s good news then,’ Wendy said. ‘The contents might be commercially sensitive, but we won’t be breaking the law if we force it open.’

‘You’ll still need the code,’ Matt said.

Wendy studied the AegisBox. It looked sturdy, but then so did piggy banks. ‘I’m sure you have a crowbar in your toolbox.’

‘I do,’ Matt agreed. ‘But you’re missing the point. These things are tamper-proof. If we force it, or if too many incorrect attempts are made to unlock it, it destroys the contents.’

‘How?’ the solicitor asked.

‘Acid, fire or shredding usually. This model uses acid.’

‘We have no way of finding out what’s inside, then?’ Wendy asked.

Instead of confirming this was the case, Matt picked up the AegisBox and looked at the back of it. ‘I have a friend who works for the company that makes this model. She might be able to provide an override code.’

‘How much?’ the solicitor asked. Help like that was never free.

‘Five thousand to her,’ Matt replied immediately. ‘Three to me.’

‘Pay him,’ Wendy said.

The money landed in Matt’s account an hour later, the same time that the AegisBox’s override code appeared on his mobile. He wrote it down on a slip of paper.

‘Before I give you this,’ he said to Wendy, ‘I need you to think carefully.’

‘About what?’

‘About the box’s contents. In my experience, unless you already know what’s inside, they’re best left unopened. My advice is to take a hammer to it and let the acid do its job. Don’t use this code.’

‘That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?’ the solicitor said. ‘Vice Admiral Boyer was an honourable man.’

‘He really bloody wasn’t,’ Wendy said. She was very much thinking of the ‘little tramp’ when she said this. ‘You’ve opened these before, haven’t you, Matt?’

‘I have.’

‘And?’

‘And, realistically, it’ll contain one of three things.

The first and best is fresh air. It’s empty.

Your life doesn’t get better, but more importantly, it doesn’t get worse.

The second is commercially sensitive information.

Unless corporate espionage is your thing, the only downside of option two is that a defence contractor might ask you to sign an NDA.

Pain in the arse as you’ll need to get legal advice, but ultimately, your life remains unchanged. ’

‘What’s the third option?’

‘The AegisBox contains something so secret your father would rather it was destroyed than see the light of day. I’ve got to tell you, Miss Boyer, it’s unlikely to be anything nice.’

‘Like proof he stole military secrets?’

‘Why keep hold of something like that? No, I think it’s more likely to be something he couldn’t bear to be parted from.’ He paused. ‘Something he liked to look at …’

The late Vice Admiral Boyer, RN (retd)’s private office descended into silence.

No one mentioned images of child abuse.

No one had to.

They were thinking it, though.

‘I’ve known the vice admiral for decades,’ the solicitor said. ‘I cannot believe he would have been involved in anything untoward.’

‘I agree,’ Wendy said. ‘What he did to my mother was reprehensible, but he didn’t lay a finger on me. None of my childhood friends were uncomfortable around him. And let’s not forget, he was a semi-permanent member of the Chiefs of Staff Committee. He will have been heavily vetted for that.’

‘There’s something else,’ the solicitor said. ‘If there’s a legal instruction regarding his estate inside, I’m obliged to see it carried out. It cannot be destroyed.’

Matt handed over the override code and Wendy tapped it into the keypad. The AegisBox clicked as it unlocked. She didn’t immediately open it.

‘It’s not too late,’ Matt said softly. ‘You don’t have to do this. Walk away. Go back to your life.’

But Wendy thought she did have to. More importantly, she was the only one left who could. She took a deep breath and prepared for the worst.

The AegisBox opened like a book. Inside there was a flash drive and a soft leather pouch. The pouch contained something hard and rectangular. She unfastened the drawstring and removed it. She blinked in surprise.

It was an elegant wooden box. A display case really. It had a glass top.

And inside … oh God, inside …

Matt and the solicitor looked over her shoulder.

‘Is that a …?’ Matt started but couldn’t finish.

Wendy nodded, dumbfounded.

It was.

After a minute of stunned silence, the solicitor said, ‘You must destroy this, Wendy.’ His voice was dry and croaky. ‘We can’t let it go public. It’ll ruin him. It’ll ruin you.’

Wendy ignored him. She pulled out her mobile telephone and stabbed the nine button three times.

‘Which service do you require?’ the emergency call handler said.

‘Police, please,’ Wendy replied.

‘May I ask what this is about?’

‘I’ve just discovered my father’s a monster.’

Five years later

The man snapped on a sterile glove. Just one.

Two weren’t needed. Not for this. Two gloves would have been excessive.

He pulled it tight. Made sure there were no air pockets.

No twists or creases. He did this until the glove fitted him like the second skin it was supposed to be.

An impermeable barrier, there to prevent the transmission of blood-borne pathogens.

And there would be blood.

The woman watched, emotionless. Resigned.

She knew this would hurt. The man had told her it would hurt.

He wasn’t being cruel. He was no sadist. He wouldn’t enjoy the pain he was about to inflict.

He had told her so she would be prepared.

So it wouldn’t be a surprise. A surprised person might flinch.

His job depended on her remaining perfectly still.

His life depended on it.

He’d clamped his first woman. Used an engineer’s vice, padded with the kind of material used to protect fragile items in transit.

He’d thought a vice would take the surprise out of the equation.

Make it irrelevant. Even if the woman struggled, the body part would remain still.

But it was a mistake, one he was lucky to survive.

Because the first woman had bucked in pain.

In surprise. And although the important body part had remained as still as a tree stump, she’d hurt her ankle.

A sprain. If it had broken, it would have been a mistake he wouldn’t have been allowed to learn from.

Damaged goods.

From that point on, he’d done it the way he’d been trained. The way it had been done for millennia.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

The woman nodded. ‘Which foot?’

‘The right.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I knew that. I’m sorry, I’m babbling.’

‘It’s OK. There’s no need to be nervous. It’ll be over before you know it.’