‘I don’t really know what a bitcoin is,’ Khosa said, with an apologetic grimace.
Varga shrugged. ‘All you need to know is that bitcoin has grown exponentially as a currency and there are even bitcoin ATMs. People use it and trade it and it has value, all of which is hidden from normal traceability. Especially on the darknet.’
‘I’m still out of my depth.’ Holder ran his hands through his hair.
Varga nodded. She’d obviously been here before. ‘Bitcoin and other types of cryptocurrencies are decentralised digital currency. They can be transferred from person to person directly. When you have a bank account, the bank controls your money. You have to use them to transfer and withdraw and deposit. That leaves a trail. With cryptocurrencies, there is no need for a bank or clearing house. Bitcoins are made, or mined, by computer activity and have controlled and restricted production to maintain value. They can be used in any country and only you have access to your account. Because of this, cryptocurrency is popular with criminals and in countries where the value of money fluctuates.’
‘OK,’ said Khosa. ‘But I know what a dollar is. I know what a pound is. I just can’t see what a bitcoin or a litecoin or whatever you call it is or what it’s worth.’
‘It’s worth what someone is willing to pay for it,’ Varga said. ‘Think of gold. Does it have any real inherent value other than it is scarce and it shines? It’s worth something because someone else covets it. That is the nature of commerce, is it not? And this new cryptocommerce does not store any sensitive or personal data as a bank transaction would.’
‘Are these transactions completely untraceable?’ Holder said.
‘Users have addresses from where they can send and receive. But no names are assigned. Though every transaction is added to a blockchain, a bit like a bank ledger to record the transactions. These confirmations are stored on users’ computers. This is called bitcoin mining, and if you are prepared to mine using your computer to process the chain, you can get new bitcoins yourself. Now, because of the great number in circulation, it takes a lot of computer power, and individuals find it difficult to do. But there are also laundry systems that take your digital coins and shuffle them around the many addresses they own and give you back the coins at another address. Then it becomes almost impossible to trace coins.’
‘Is that legal?’
‘Yes. Governments and banks are way behind when it comes to the dark economy and cryptocurrency.’
‘OK,’ Holder said. ‘I can understand all that, but what can you actually buy?’
Varga turned back to the screen and typed in a search. Up came a site. On it was a list of companies now accepting bitcoin. Flights, jewellery, computers, gift cards, pizza. Most were in the USA. It took a moment for Holder to remember to shut his mouth.
Varga’a knowledge of cryptocurrency and its attraction for criminals was obviously extensive, but they were straying from the evidence. Anna needed to bring them back into focus. ‘Szandra, we’re interested in the image. Could you find out a bit more for us? Can you date it, for example? Tell us what sort of camera was used? Or when it was posted?’
Szandra shrugged. ‘Not always, but we can usually get some information. I can’t do it here but I will get back to… Ryia, is it?’
Khosa nodded. She stood to walk Varga out.
Anna said, ‘Thanks, Szandra. You’ve been a great help and I appreciate you have a heavy workload. But I’d also appreciate it if you gave this some urgent attention.’
Varga nodded and smiled. She understood. She’d heard it all before. And Anna sensed that hidden in that sanguine smile was a wariness that held no promises.
* * *
‘Did any of that help actually help us with Rosie?’ Holder asked when Khosa came back into the room.
Anna shrugged, ‘Only that we now know he’s computer literate and smart at covering his tracks.’
Woakes, who had been quiet throughout the whole of Varga’s presentation, finally spoke. ‘So he’s bright. Like a doctor would be, for instance. And didn’t Hawley have his laptop in pieces when we called?’
‘He did,’ Anna said.
‘Therefore it would be a good idea to look at his laptop, wouldn’t it?’
‘Possibly,’ Anna said. ‘But this image is years old. We wouldn’t get a search warrant based on what we have and I, for one, do not want to start fending off a harassment accusation.’
Woakes leaned forwards, both hands on the desk. ‘He might be sitting at home in his little Wendy house right now laughing his tits off.’
Anna thought about reacting but bit her tongue. It was well after five by now. ‘Right, let’s call it a day. I’m sure we all have homes to go to. We’ll pick this up in the morning.’
* * *
Anna threw her body around a CrossFit circuit in the gym for an hour after work and let the day’s events simmer. They were no nearer to finding out anything else about Rosie Dawson but she’d learned a lot since getting out of her own bed that morning. Mainly that Woakes was a liability and seemed to have brought a lot more baggage with him than anyone had warned her about. In fact, there’d been no warning at all. Rainsford’s only handover information had been that Woakes had come to them from Leicester. He hadn’t actually said why. And they’d needed the help. Twelve months ago she’d been Woakes, a detective sergeant with a senior detective chief inspector running the team, and Holder as the detective constable beneath her. But DCI Shipwright’s ill health had opened the door for her promotion. Woakes was meant to bolster a depleted team. So far, he’d not only forgotten that there was no ‘I’ in team, he’d added a couple more.
* * *
Back in her Horfield flat, Anna ate some pasta and sipped her one glass of wine, pondering if doing this alone every night was the best that life could offer. Kate didn’t think so and her mother certainly did not. But did she pine? No. And despite Kate’s description of his backside, the thought of Woakes sharing this with her did absolutely nothing to her juices. And then Ben Hawley was there in his T-shirt with that surprised, hurt look on his face. She quashed the thought. There were well-established codes for maintaining professional boundaries and standards when it came to witnesses or victims. Vulnerability was always present and the power imbalance easy to abuse.
But that didn’t stop her thinking about Hawley and what he’d been put through. Was that pity or something else altogether? Anna shrugged. He’d had a great deal of time to think about Rosie. Much more time than she or Woakes had. And his theories might all be simply nothing more than wool-gathering, unhealthy preoccupation or, if Woakes was to be believed, the arrogant mind-games of a perpetrator gloating over his triumphs.
Anna became aware of an itch she couldn’t reach on the inside of her skull. Like a parasitic worm trying to burrow its way out. She didn’t like it, but she’d learned to trust it because it held all the pieces that would make up the pattern that was beginning to form around Rosie’s photograph with the PPV caption. They floated in front of her now, those pieces. Disconnected points that somehow remained all part of the same jigsaw:
Rosie’s discarded bones on the path in Charterhouse.
The conviction she held that in Rosie’s case, the killer had intimate local knowledge.
The certainty, given Varga’s assessment, that they were dealing with a skilled, clever predator.
She needed that one extra link, the something that might begin to make the picture whole. But where the hell was it going to come from?
Twenty
Wednesday
Wednesday morning at HQ and the burrowing worm still gnawed in Anna’s head. The visit from Varga the previous afternoon had been interesting but frustratingly unhelpful. Yet, Anna sensed that her input in this case was vital. Unable to quell the urge, she rang Varga’s number.
‘Inspector Gwynne?’ Varga answered immediately. It sounded like she was walking.