Tangled Webb: Dark Webb, #2

By Harry Dayle

Thaddeus Webb has run away. Again. On the edge of Edinburgh he's trying hard to stay out of trouble. Now it looks like trouble has found him.

When Thad stumbles across someone who's been scamming innocent tourists, he feels he must put a stop to their nefarious activities. But things are not all they seem, and before long he finds himself mired in a murder case and entangled in a terror plot. Thad is uniquely positioned to avert the impending atrocity. The only problem is, he doesn't know where it will happen, or what form it will take.

With a forgotten ghost from his past emerging from the shadows, and another from more recent events always lurking, he must use every trick he knows — legal or otherwise — to unravel the truth and save innocent lives

Tangled Webb is the second book in Harry Dayle's exciting Dark Webb series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry Dayle
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224804320

Book preview

TUESDAY 3RD MAY 2016

The cosy dining

room was almost empty, making it impossible to ignore the argument at the table by the window. The couple seated there were, Thad guessed, in their late fifties. The gentleman still had most of his hair, and she obviously dyed hers. Their voices had risen in volume progressively over the course of the last five minutes. The landlady of the inn, a bulbous woman adorned with a floral apron as loud as the guests, had had enough. She shook her head, muttered something Thad didn’t understand, and left them shouting at her back.

She stopped by his table on her way to the kitchen. Shall I bring you more porridge, Mr Webb? She rolled the ‘r’ of mister so comprehensively, Thad had to suppress a smile.

Just some more coffee, thanks.

She gave barely a nod before disappearing through a swing door.

Unbelievable, the woman at the window table shouted after her. Two words: customer service.

Irene, please. You’re making a scene.

I said you should have paid more attention to those bad reviews on the net, Eric. I told you.

Thad pretended he couldn’t hear the dispute between the couple, and buried his head in a guidebook. The only other person in the room tutted loudly, made a fuss of moving his chair back, and left.

The landlady reappeared with a jug of coffee which she slopped messily into Thad’s waiting mug. Did you make it across the causeway yesterday? Her accent stretched the words into unfamiliar forms, making each syllable work for its living.

Aye, Thad found himself saying. Then, embarrassed, Yes. Yes, Maggie, I did. And you were right about the tide. It comes in alarmingly quickly.

That it does. Too quickly for me. I daresay I’d get across with dry feet, but I’d have to wait for the tide to go out again to come back. In my younger days, mind, I was back and forth like a spring lamb.

Really? What for? I thought the island had been deserted for decades.

That it has. But when you’re young and in love, and when you live in a wee village where everybody knows everybody’s business, a deserted island holds certain attractions, if you catch my drift.

Excuse me? The woman from the window table was on her feet. We’re still not done here. I want to know—

Maggie cut her short. Aye, we’re done. If you’ve a problem, I’d suggest you take up with the constabulary. She rolled her eyes at Thad and retreated into her kitchen stronghold.

Irene shouted an obscenity after her, causing her husband to hide his face in his hands. That’s it. We have to leave, he said. We can’t possibly continue to stay here now.

Gladly. I will gladly leave. We’ll find a proper hotel. One where they understand tourists are an important source of revenue and treat them accordingly. God only knows how this place survives.

Thad gazed beyond the woman and out of the window. It was true Maggie’s customer service skills left something to be desired, but the view explained perfectly how the little inn stayed afloat. Beyond a low hedgerow stretched the estuary of the River Almond, where it combined with the waters of the Firth of Forth. A line of fishing boats bobbed gently in the harbour, and further out was the shadow of Cramond Island. The inn was perfectly placed, and the inside was as picturesque as outside. The huge fireplaces, the stained oak beams, the polished wooden bar and the selection of fine ales and even finer whiskies was everything a tourist might want. Especially one looking for an authentic Scottish idyll.

Not that Thad was a tourist as such. He was enjoying the sights and the relative tranquillity of the village, but his reasons for being there were likely not the same as Irene’s or her long-suffering husband’s. Thad was happy to accept Maggie’s eccentricities, and had even grown rather fond of the woman over the last month.

I’d suggest you leave too, Irene said to Thad. If you don’t want to get ripped off.

Irene, please. We don’t know it was her.

Of course it was her. We’ve paid for everything else with cash. Who else could it have been? She scowled at her husband, then turned back to Thad. Did you give her your credit card when you checked in?

Er, yeah. I think so. He avoided making eye contact, reluctant to be drawn into someone else’s domestic.

Then I’d recommend you check your statement very carefully. Because she—she raised her voice—is skimming card numbers and spending other people’s money.

Irene’s husband buried his head again.

Thad frowned. He’d heard the accusation earlier in the argument. The whole thing seemed to be based on Irene’s dislike for the woman. I don’t think Maggie would do that. She might be a bit of a throwback when it comes to hospitality, but she’s all right.

Tell me that again when you find five hundred quid unaccounted for on your card.

Five hundred pounds? Someone took you for five hundred pounds? Sorry, that’s rotten luck on holiday.

Luck has nothing to do with it. That woman cloned my card.

It could have been someone else, Thad murmured.

Irene’s husband mumbled in agreement.

Nonsense. I’ve paid cash everywhere else we’ve been. I don’t trust these Scots as far as I can throw them. This hotel’s the only place I’ve used the card, and now my bank’s sending me text messages saying I’m over my limit.

Thad tried to keep his mouth shut, but he didn’t like Irene casting aspersions without the evidence with which to back them up. Your card could have been skimmed before you came away. Perhaps you used it online and the number was stolen from a website. Happens all the time, sadly. Just because someone used it recently, it doesn’t follow the theft was recent. Have you called your bank to stop the card?

Of course I bloody have.

So you’ve nothing to worry about. They should reimburse you for the fraud.

You’d think, but no. They’re arguing some rule or other that says they can weasel their way out of responsibility. And as to your theory, I’m afraid it doesn’t hold water. I never use this card online. I have a rule, don’t I, Eric? Prepaid cards only on the internet.

Eric nodded and turned to stare out of the window. Thad felt rather sorry for him. This wasn’t the first time Irene had made a scene over breakfast. A couple of days ago the coffee hadn’t been strong enough, the day before it had been too strong. The beds were too hard, the stairs creaked, and the bar stayed open too late, the laughter and occasional singing of the drinkers making it hard for Irene to sleep. He wondered why she had chosen the inn at all. There were plenty of modern, soulless chain hotels in the nearby city she could have stayed in.

Well I’m going to do exactly what she said, Irene grunted. I’m going to the police station to report her.

Her husband looked aghast. We only have a few more days here. We’re supposed to visit the castle today and you want to go and sit in a police station instead?

She can’t be allowed to get away with this.

She didn’t do anything wrong.

Then she can explain to the police how my card got skimmed.

That’s not how it works, Irene— Eric began, but she silenced him with a glare before storming out of the dining room. He sniffed, and muttered, I think it’s my fault.

Thad closed his eyes. He considered taking his coffee to his room, but Eric was trying to engage him in conversation. As a rule, he cared little for social graces or what other people thought of him, but leaving the poor guy alone without acknowledging him would have been too much even for him.

She’s going to go berserk, Eric continued.

Right, Thad managed, failing to sound the least bit interested.

I used her card. I ordered pizza the other night. Irene was in the bath. We’d done the walk over the causeway, you know?

He nodded.

We were cold and tired. It was Wednesday, when it rained.

Yeah?

After that I didn’t feel like eating out. All I wanted was to relax in our room, maybe watch a film. So I rang for pizza.

Thad’s attention was roused.

Thought I’d surprise her. Only, he hesitated, the pizza never came. Perhaps they lost the order, I don’t know. I didn’t phone and complain because Irene was back out of the bath and insisting we came down here for dinner. Do you think it could have been the pizza place who took the money?

Thad sighed, shaking his head. You gave them the card number over the phone?

Yes.

Expiry date?

Yeah. And the number off the back. I’ve been stupid, haven’t I?

I can see why the bank don’t want to refund you.

Eric slumped in his chair. Damn it. I’m going to have to tell her before she drags me down to the station. Best she shouts at me before we get there rather than while making a statement.

I doubt you’ll get as far as making a statement. The police might take a few details but they won’t pursue it. Unless the fraud’s on a large scale, they’ll say it’s not their problem. Tell me, did you get the number for the pizza place from a printed menu?

Eric nodded. It was in the room.

A yellow and red one? Pushed under the door last week?

You got one the same?

Yup. It’s a common scam, I’m afraid. I suspected it, and you’ve all but confirmed it.

You mean they set out to steal credit card numbers?

Chances are the pizza place never existed. They distribute fake menus in hotels popular with tourists.

Bastards.

Sorry.

Eric heaved himself to his feet, took a moment to arrange his empty coffee cup and saucer on top of a crumb-filled plate, did the same with his wife’s used crockery, and pushed his chair back under the table. I’d better apologise to the landlady, then go and face the music.

Thad spent his day as he had spent the previous weeks — walking, exploring the countryside surrounding the village, and in particular the banks of the Firth of Forth. He found it difficult to believe he was only a few miles from the bustle of Edinburgh, though the knowledge the city was so close by was also a comfort. His childhood had been spent in the country, but he had come to love town living. Half of his life, and all of his life as Thaddeus Webb, had been spent in the metropolises of London and Manchester. He loved the anonymity which came with being part of a dense population, and the convenience of having everything a man could want within walking distance. But six months ago he had felt a need to reconnect to the great outdoors. It had begun in a hotel room in Leeds, and had only grown stronger, particularly when he had made the trip to visit his parents’ grave. That, more than anything, had made him run north again.

When he stumbled through the front door of the Causeway Inn at tea time, he was exhausted, but filled with the glow he had come to associate with a day on his feet. Contrary to his preconceptions, he had discovered that regular prolonged walks worked wonders for his condition, managing the pain far better than any drugs, prescription or otherwise.

A wee dram, Mr Webb? Maggie intoned from behind the counter upon seeing him.

I think I’m going to grab a shower first, thanks.

Will you be eating with us this evening? You didn’t book a table before leaving.

Thad glanced through the open door to the dining room beyond. Not one of the tables was occupied. He knew full well the small hotel was nearly empty and that reservations were an unnecessary complication. Sure. Put me down for eight o’clock. Thanks.

Between cleaning himself up and returning to the bar, Thad checked his email. This wasn’t regular email. To access it he had to reboot his laptop computer using a small USB memory stick with an alternative operating system loaded on it. The setup allowed him into the so-called dark web, the underground part of the internet where everything was virtually untraceable. He navigated to his secure and anonymous email account and checked the inbox. There was one message waiting for him.

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Re: Phone number trace

Greetings. Regards phone number provided. I have traced number to VOIP provider. This is system of virtual numbers. Possibility maybe to access system of provider to find customer name. I am thinking this will not provide accurately information that you seek. High chance customer name not real. Conclusion I reach because I ask friend to trace phone number. Number is redirection. When you call, it makes ring a cell phone. This cell phone is prepay, no way to trace owner. Possibility exists to triangulate signal from cell phone, but very expensive. Please to tell me if this service requires. More informations below.

Thad smiled. He had never imagined his hacker-for-hire ‘Dazhax’ as having any friends, and to see him talk of them heartened him greatly. He reflected on the question for a moment, then tapped out a response.

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Re: Phone number trace

Hi. Thanks for looking into this. You're right, no need to triangulate the cell phone. I don't need to find the owner that badly. Let me know if you require extra payment for your friend's help, it's no problem. I know you don't do this for the money, but I don't want you to end up out of pocket.

He read back his reply, then added:

(By which I mean I don't want you to work at a loss. You and your friend should be paid for your efforts.)

Thad pulled a sheet of hotel headed paper from the small stack on the desk and jotted down the mobile phone number Dazhax had listed in the More Information section at the bottom of the message, along with some other details he had included.

In the bar he ran into Eric. Evening. How’s it going, mate? he asked, wondering where Irene might be but choosing not to pose the question. How did it go with the police?

Pff. Waste of time that was. You were right, they didn’t want to know. I gave them a copy of the fake menu and they looked mildly interested for a second. I even thought they might take a statement. Then the policeman said he’d keep the menu on file and if there were enough complaints he’d pass it on to a detective. No chance of getting our money back. On the plus side, we were out of there quickly so we still had plenty of time to visit the castle. Have you been?

Thad shook his head. It was on the list of things to do before leaving the area, though at the end of his stay. He was enjoying the freedom of the countryside too much to make that journey yet. Let me buy you a drink.

Very kind, thank you. I’ll be over there. Eric made a beeline for a pair of comfy old armchairs by the fireplace before Maggie saw him. He needn’t have worried as it was one of her younger bar staff who served Thad.

He took a seat next to Eric, passed him his drink, and put down the folded page of headed paper next to it.

Thank you. Sorry, I never did get your name.

Thaddeus.

Eric. Pleasure to meet you. What’s this? He opened the page.

The number on that pizza menu redirects to a mobile number. That’s the mobile number.

How do you know—?

Friends in low places. Listen, there’s not much you can do with it because it’s pay-as-you go, but if the police take any more interest in those scammers, you might want to pass it on. I wrote down the name of the VOIP operator managing the redirect, although I expect they can find it themselves.

The what operator?

VOIP. Voice over IP. It’s like a virtual telephone number. It’s not connected to an actual phone line, it’s a number that forwards to a mobile phone. It’s how the scammers get away with it. They put the virtual number on their fake menu, and because it looks like a regular landline number, nobody suspects anything.

Eric sighed, took a large glug of whisky and said, No wonder the police weren’t interested. They must know all this already, the fact they can’t trace them. What about the money these bastards took from me? There must be a way of tracking that. Follow the money. Isn’t that how they catch fraudsters?

Thad was momentarily transported back to a conversation in a traffic jam in Leeds. He smiled as he pictured the girl who had spoken those same words at the time. They probably could, yeah. But that would take effort.

You sound like a man who has little confidence in the police.

Thad said nothing. There was no reason to believe his cause for mistrusting the law extended to all forces. Still, once bitten…

The two men enjoyed a couple more rounds of drinks together. Fortified by the single malt, Eric confessed he would be alone for dinner as Irene still wasn’t talking to him, so they moved into the dining room and shared a table and more conversation. Eric talked, and Thad was happy to listen. It meant he didn’t have to avoid answering well-intentioned questions about his background or past.

By the time he retired to his room, his mind was buzzing from the combined effect of the alcohol, coffee, and vocabulary consumed over the course of the evening. He knew sleep would be impossible for another couple of hours, so rather than lie awake he switched on his computer and found a movie to watch.

He was still watching it when he heard footsteps outside, and when a small yellow and red pizza menu was slipped beneath his door.

Thad grabbed the flyer. It was almost exactly like the one he had seen the previous week; only the phone number had changed.

Without a second thought, he pulled open the door and scanned the short hallway. Crouched in front of the room opposite, a pile of flyers in hand, was a figure dressed all in black save for a dark blue baseball cap. Not making a sound, Thad padded across the thick carpet and reached down. He put one hand over the person’s mouth, and wrapped his free arm around their arms and torso, preventing them from fighting back. You and I need a word, he whispered, dragging his prey backwards into his room. With a deft kick, he closed the door behind them.

WEDNESDAY 20TH JUNE 2001

I’m settling

into the new flat. It’s tiny (only a studio), the neighbours are noisy, and I don’t think the area is all that from what I’ve seen, but it’s not a bloody hostel. It’s home.

Today I went and spent what seemed like a small fortune at the supermarket to fill the fridge and the cupboards. Really it wasn’t that much money, but I’m not used to buying food like this, and certainly not so much in one go. I can’t live on restaurants and takeaways anymore though. This cash has to last me. So I shall learn to cook, or at least heat stuff up. You can do a lot with a microwave.

I’ve already paid three months’ rent in advance for the flat. I knew I’d have to, of course, what with having no references and no salary. To be honest I was lucky the agent let me get away with only three months. Then again this isn’t Notting Hill. It’s definitely bottom of the range. Compared to some of the other tenants I’m probably low-risk.

I also had to buy new clothes. Nothing fancy. I’ve put cash aside for smarter clobber when I’m ready to begin applying for jobs. For now, a couple of pairs of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, and a couple of hoodies will do. There’s no washing machine here so I’ll have to do laundry by hand. Again, service washes at the laundrette are out. New me, new financial regime. Thaddeus Webb cannot be a spender.

Speaking of my new identity, I made perhaps the biggest change of all this afternoon. I shaved my head. Dear diary, I cannot tell you how weird it is to have not a hair on my bonce. I feel naked. Good thing I’ve got all that food in now because it’s going to be a while before I can pluck up the courage to go outside again. I feel totally exposed. Which is ironic, given the reason for the drastic change.

Look, I don’t know if Mr Jones is going to come after me. Well, he certainly won’t in person. No doubt he has people for that. Realistically, I’m probably not worth his time. On the other hand, he did invest heavily in me. I imagine he expected a lot more than just, well, what I provided in return for the bonus money. The twelve grand was like a retainer, only it failed to retain.

Also, I know things. Not a lot. I’m not sure I even know as much as Chad. I think he knew a lot more than he ever let on. Still, I know things. Like the address on Wapping Wall. That makes me a liability, and that makes me nervous. Hence the new look to go with the new name. If Jones is determined, he’ll find me, of course he will. But I’m not going to make it easy for him.

My other purchase today, as well as the food and the razors, was film. I’ve stocked up. Colour and black and white. Digital cameras are all the rage apparently, but I can’t fork out a small fortune for one of those. They cost as much as a couple of months’ rent. Besides, I’m a professional, and professionals use film. How are you supposed to make a portfolio on a digital camera? You can’t take a bloody computer around with you when applying for jobs.

The rolls of film are sitting on the kitchen counter, a constant reminder of what I have to do. I can’t ignore them, and I can’t ignore my responsibility. In fact, let me state it right here in this diary in black and white:

In two weeks I will have a basic portfolio.

There. I’ve set myself a goal. I read somewhere that writing down your goals is important and it helps you reach them. I’m not repeating the mistakes of the past. I will build a portfolio and then hit the streets and look for a job. A proper one. Not bar work. Nothing temporary. I will not get sucked into another diversion. This money, Luisa, it can’t be for nothing. This is my one chance and I will not waste it.

WEDNESDAY 4TH MAY 2016

The lack

of any struggle from the leaflet distributor had more to do with the element of surprise than Thad’s grip. As the room door clicked shut, something changed and the small person wriggled free in an instant. Now Thad was the one who was surprised.

Hey, you little shit. Come here! He tried to grab the escapee, but they were nimble and fast on their feet, already at the door and grappling with the catch. Thad got a hand on the black top, and took an elbow in his stomach for the effort. He bent double, winded, giving the leafleteer time to get through the door. He stumbled forwards, out of the room, and saw his target for half a second as they rounded the top of the staircase and began their descent, taking three steps at a time. He caught a glimpse of their face; it looked like a young boy, just a kid. Come back, he shouted after him. I only want to talk.

The boy was gone.

Thad wasn’t giving in. As his room door closed behind him, and recovering fast from the blow, he lurched forwards towards the stairs.

The Causeway Inn was sombre but not entirely dark. Maggie left a few lights on downstairs for the benefit of any guests who might want to use the lounge in the small hours. It was an old building though, with low ceilings, narrow passages, and uneven walls and floors which did little to diffuse the light. Whoever had been dispensing the fake menus, they had slipped through the shadows, so when Thad reached the ground floor there was no sign of him.

He started towards the front door, assuming the kid had made his exit that way, but a cat screeching behind him made him turn sharply and run in the other direction. He passed through the dining room, then the swing door into the kitchen. A chill breeze alerted him to the fire exit being ajar, and a second later he was through it, finding himself in a car park at the rear of the building.

Thick cloud covered the black sky. No moon or stars could guide him, only the sound of the water offered any clues about the geography. There was another noise too. He strained to hear it. Feet crunching on gravel a short way ahead. Thad fumbled in his pocket for his phone, a potential source of light, then remembered it was beside his bed. Cursing, he sprinted forwards, blind.

The boy must have heard him coming because he too broke into a run.

Twenty seconds later Thad caught sight of the lad again, passing in front of a classic old red telephone box. He had been surprised to see the relic from the past when he first arrived in the village. Now its interior light had given away the position of the boy. Thad put on a spurt of speed, heartened to find his legs able to provide faster locomotion. The daily exercise was paying dividends. A few months earlier he would never have been able to keep up the pace.

The narrow tree-lined road wound steeply towards the village and the ascent made the chase all the harder. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, although there was little to see. To his left was a high stone wall behind which ancient trees stood guard over Cramond House. Ahead was the outline of Cramond Kirk, the church at the heart of village life. The boy jettisoned his remaining stash of leaflets over the stone wall. It was a grave error as it slowed him down just enough for Thad to be able to lunge after him. The tips of his fingers brushed the kid’s top. Thad grunted with the effort; the boy growled and sped up, dodging to the left through a gap in the wall and into the grounds of the church. Thad put everything he had into a last ditch attempt to reach him. The muscles in his legs burned as he launched himself forwards, leaping at the back of his escaped charge. He brought him crashing down, mercifully landing on grass, inches from the tarmac path and almost directly below a rare streetlamp.

The boy struggled without hesitation this time, but Thad was bigger, heavier, and stronger. He pinned him to the ground mercilessly and panting, pulled his arms behind his back, preventing him from moving without causing himself serious pain.

I only…wanted…to talk, he gasped.

The small body beneath him went limp, defeated.

Your scam’s over, pal. The bracing air made him shiver. He shrugged it off and tightened his grip on the boy’s wrists as if he were responsible for the chill wind.

The boy remained silent.

Here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to tell me your name. Then you’re going to take me to where you live. Then you’re going to give me five hundred pounds to repay my friend you stole from. And then you’re going to repay everyone else you’ve stolen from. Do that, and there’s no need for the police to be involved, understand?

The lad tried to speak this time, but with his face pressed into the grass his words were unintelligible.

Thad relaxed his grip and sat back, giving him some wiggle room.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, the boy rasped. His accent marked him out as a local. I don’t know anything about a scam.

Bollocks you don’t.

I just deliver leaflets.

At one o’clock in the morning? Pull the other one.

I swear.

Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. We’ll call the police station and you can explain to them why you’re pushing fake menus under hotel room doors in the small hours.

Good idea. Then I can report you for assault.

I’m going to get off you now. If you try to run again, I’ll stop you, all right? And I’ll be mightily pissed off with you. You don’t want me to be pissed off.

The boy nodded.

Thad pushed himself upright, releasing his grip on the kid’s wrists at the last minute. The boy struggled to his feet, keeping his face away from Thad.

What’s it to be then? Pay back? Or the police? Thad’s hand hovered over his pocket, hoping his bluff would not be called.

The boy