involved.”
“Can’t you do it without blaming him?”
“I know it’s a pity to sully a hero, but... No choice, I’m afraid.” Angel finished his coffee. “A lorry’s coming over to take the Jag back. I’ll put
every engineer we’ve got on it. New chips from a different source – so they can’t have Trojans in them. Bigger, better security – harder to hack. Then we need a way forward.
You can put all this behind you by cracking on with the case.”
“I suppose.”
“Any ideas?”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
Angel nodded. “You have proved a link, you know. You were right. Picking on Phil Lazenby twice can’t be a coincidence. It looks like Short Circuit’s after specific people in
Suffolk, even if we don’t know why.”
“Or who’s next,” Jordan replied.
“Come on,” Angel said, getting to his feet. “There’s a chopper waiting for us.”
8 TIP-OFF
Jordan couldn’t sleep. His brain replayed the evening’s events over and over again. He tried to clear his mind, or think about something else, but, before long, he
was talking once more to Phil Lazenby in Ipswich and deciding to leave him in the Jaguar before returning to the Town Hall. The playback skipped. He was staring at the smeared stain on the
windscreen and the body that had been thrown forward at high speed before slumping back onto the seat and falling sideways.
Jordan was damp with sweat and he felt queasy. Some unseen torturer seemed to have placed a belt around his stomach and was pulling it tighter and tighter. Another imaginary band was squeezing
his skull.
Just as his bedroom curtain began to glow with morning sunshine, Jordan finally drifted into uneasy sleep. His internal clock woke him long before his body had refreshed itself. He felt groggy
and grumpy as he dressed. He had no choice but to get up, though. It was Sunday and he was due to meet Angel and Raven in the bunker.
They’d hardly begun to talk when Kate Stelfox called from the workshop above them. “I think you’d better come up,” she said. “There’s something you should
see.”
The three of them darted to the lift, went up to ground level and rushed into the garage.
Jordan noticed straight away that the engineers had cleaned the inside of his car thoroughly. The awful stains had vanished completely. Anyone examining the Jaguar would not find a trace of what
had happened to the passenger.
One engineer was delving under the bonnet, like a pathologist examining a dead body. An IT specialist was conducting a post-mortem on the car’s computer and black-box recorder.
Kate was holding three pieces of creased and tainted paper. “The photos you gave him, Jordan. Did you write anything on the back?”
“No.”
“Check out Paige Ottaway’s picture.”
Jordan took it in his artificial hand and avoided touching the brown bloodstain. He turned the photograph over while Angel and Raven, standing either side of him, watched eagerly. He caught his
breath when he realized that Phil Lazenby had jotted something on the reverse. He had written in clear block capitals: FOREW .
“Forew? Why did he do that? What does it mean?”
“Maybe it’s an acronym,” Angel said. “We’ll find out back in the bunker.”
“Is it a word?” Jordan asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Angel replied. “It might not be complete. Perhaps he was interrupted when the car took off. Apparently, he had a pen in his hand when he
died.”
Kate said, “Was he dyslexic or anything? Maybe terrible at spelling?”
“A pilot? Probably not. But we need to make sure.” Angel turned towards the door. “Come on. We’re going to look into the history of all four victims. That includes Phil
Lazenby’s writing skills.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Thanks, Kate. Carry on with the car.”
Back in the bunker, Raven soon completed a search. Scanning down the list of results, she said, “Forew’s a surname but it’s very uncommon. Mostly, the
“Can’t you do it without blaming him?”
“I know it’s a pity to sully a hero, but... No choice, I’m afraid.” Angel finished his coffee. “A lorry’s coming over to take the Jag back. I’ll put
every engineer we’ve got on it. New chips from a different source – so they can’t have Trojans in them. Bigger, better security – harder to hack. Then we need a way forward.
You can put all this behind you by cracking on with the case.”
“I suppose.”
“Any ideas?”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
Angel nodded. “You have proved a link, you know. You were right. Picking on Phil Lazenby twice can’t be a coincidence. It looks like Short Circuit’s after specific people in
Suffolk, even if we don’t know why.”
“Or who’s next,” Jordan replied.
“Come on,” Angel said, getting to his feet. “There’s a chopper waiting for us.”
8 TIP-OFF
Jordan couldn’t sleep. His brain replayed the evening’s events over and over again. He tried to clear his mind, or think about something else, but, before long, he
was talking once more to Phil Lazenby in Ipswich and deciding to leave him in the Jaguar before returning to the Town Hall. The playback skipped. He was staring at the smeared stain on the
windscreen and the body that had been thrown forward at high speed before slumping back onto the seat and falling sideways.
Jordan was damp with sweat and he felt queasy. Some unseen torturer seemed to have placed a belt around his stomach and was pulling it tighter and tighter. Another imaginary band was squeezing
his skull.
Just as his bedroom curtain began to glow with morning sunshine, Jordan finally drifted into uneasy sleep. His internal clock woke him long before his body had refreshed itself. He felt groggy
and grumpy as he dressed. He had no choice but to get up, though. It was Sunday and he was due to meet Angel and Raven in the bunker.
They’d hardly begun to talk when Kate Stelfox called from the workshop above them. “I think you’d better come up,” she said. “There’s something you should
see.”
The three of them darted to the lift, went up to ground level and rushed into the garage.
Jordan noticed straight away that the engineers had cleaned the inside of his car thoroughly. The awful stains had vanished completely. Anyone examining the Jaguar would not find a trace of what
had happened to the passenger.
One engineer was delving under the bonnet, like a pathologist examining a dead body. An IT specialist was conducting a post-mortem on the car’s computer and black-box recorder.
Kate was holding three pieces of creased and tainted paper. “The photos you gave him, Jordan. Did you write anything on the back?”
“No.”
“Check out Paige Ottaway’s picture.”
Jordan took it in his artificial hand and avoided touching the brown bloodstain. He turned the photograph over while Angel and Raven, standing either side of him, watched eagerly. He caught his
breath when he realized that Phil Lazenby had jotted something on the reverse. He had written in clear block capitals: FOREW .
“Forew? Why did he do that? What does it mean?”
“Maybe it’s an acronym,” Angel said. “We’ll find out back in the bunker.”
“Is it a word?” Jordan asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Angel replied. “It might not be complete. Perhaps he was interrupted when the car took off. Apparently, he had a pen in his hand when he
died.”
Kate said, “Was he dyslexic or anything? Maybe terrible at spelling?”
“A pilot? Probably not. But we need to make sure.” Angel turned towards the door. “Come on. We’re going to look into the history of all four victims. That includes Phil
Lazenby’s writing skills.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Thanks, Kate. Carry on with the car.”
Back in the bunker, Raven soon completed a search. Scanning down the list of results, she said, “Forew’s a surname but it’s very uncommon. Mostly, the
Similar Books
