Page 89 of Reinventing Cato
Which made Vigge think that whoever had it in for Cato, could well be someone he’d had a relationship with. Was Max obsessed? Not willing to let Cato go? Vigge sighed and went back to checking Cato’s housemates.
Pedro Ballesta was easily found. Born in Spain but had lived in the UK since he was a child. Studying experimental particle physics at Cambridge University. Like Cato, he’d written several scientific papers. But Vigge could find no trace of Sam Thompson. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was little on agri-food robotics at Cambridge anyway, plus Sam Thompson was a common name.
The others on Cato’s list included an unnamed Premiership footballer—which was no use to Vigge at all, a pharmacist and a teacher whose names didn’t set alarm bells ringing. The footballer was a possible suspect because he wasn’t out, which made Cato a potential threat. But without a name, Vigge could do nothing. There was no point feeling jealous that Cato had had sex with—don’t count!—quite a few guys and two women. He and Cato hadn’t even got that far yet and perversely, that made Vigge happier.
By mid-afternoon, he’d received an email from Surrey police about Cato’s mother. Another dead end. If she’d been injured, there would no doubt have been more interest, but they had nothing to go on apart from the other vehicle being an undamaged silver car. Telling them about the texts Cato had received could make a difference to their enquiry, but with no additional evidence—no dashcam footage, no CCTV, no other drivers, there was little more they could do, and informing them about the texts might make matters worse.
Vigge buried himself in the other cases he was handling—did people ever get tired of beating each other up? —when his phone signalled he’d had a text from a number he didn’t recognise. Cato telling him to contact him on this number.What had happened?He went out of the building and called him.
“Hi. Hang on a sec.”
Even hearing Cato’s voice made the breath catch in his throat.
“Is that a new ringtone?” someone asked. Vigge thought it was Pedro.
“Yep.” The muffled response from Cato implied he wasn’t speaking into the phone.
Vigge listened to him running upstairs. A door opened, closed, then Cato gave a heavy sigh.
“Are you okay?” Vigge asked.
“I came upstairs to my room hoping, but you’re not lying naked in my bed, so no, I’m not okay.”
Vigge chuckled. “I’m still at work. What’s with the new number?”
“I just thought it was a good idea to get a new phone. If anyoneismonitoring my iPhone, I wanted a way to talk safely. But I’m an idiot. I should have had it on silent or at least made it the same ringtone. I was in the kitchen with Pedro and Sam when you called and I don’t want anyone but you to know I have another phone. Oh God. Do you think I’m being paranoid? Don’t answer that. Wait, hang on.”
Vigge waited. He didn’t think Cato was being paranoid. The car accident could have been just that, an accident, but if it wasn’t…
“Bloody hell,” Cato said.
“Another text?” Vigge’s pulse jumped.
“Yeah, but not from fuckhead. NASA want me to do another interview on Friday. Online with some people in California. I thought…” He gave a short laugh. “Well, the problem continues.”
“If anyoneismonitoring your phone, they’ll know about the interview.”
“So if I don’t tell anyone, they might give themselves away.”
“Possibly. But if someone asks you or you mention it, keep a record of who you tell.”
Cato groaned. “I feel like I’m just tempting fuckhead to give me another bloody reminder. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. My mother was lucky. And yes, I know that crash could have nothing to do with me, but the text came twenty minutes later, so I think it did. And something else has happened.”
“What?”
“My parents have been sent tickets to Wednesday’s concert. Not by me. I didn’t know what to say when my mum thanked me. Should I tell them not to come?”
“Can you think of anyone who’d legitimately send them tickets?”
“No. I can’t help thinking it’s fuckhead messing with me. What if he’s planning to hurt them? But if I tell themnotto come, he might do something anyway.”
“Report it. Or let me report it. I can ask the local police to keep an eye out.”
Cato gave a heavy sigh. “I think I have to do something now. I’ll report it. Do I come to where you work or just the local station?”
“Huntingdon. Then if anyoneismonitoring you, they’re less likely to know. If you bring your mobile in, you’ll be pressed to leave it so it can be forensically examined. If there’s a tracker on it, the person who put it there will know where you go.”
“I know. Even if it’s switched off. But then wouldn’t that be obvious to someone monitoring it?”
