Implant (DI Gardener 3)

Johnson appeared to think about it, then said he hadn’t.

“Notice any strangers around, recently? I realise the pub runs a bed and breakfast, so I suppose there’ll always be strangers of some description around.”

“No, but I know what you mean,” Johnson replied. “Most of the people we get here are train-spotters, or people who are really into steam, up for the weekend. You can spot ’em a mile off. They’re the only people I’ve seen.”

“You haven’t noticed a white van hanging around the place?”

“White vans are pretty common, aren’t they? I dare say I have seen one or two.”

“You might notice this one, Mr Johnson. The driver’s side brake light wasn’t working.”

After a moment’s thought, Johnson replied that he hadn’t.

Thornton decided to move on, figuring there was nothing further to be gained on that subject. So far, very few people they had spoken to had come up with anything concrete they could follow up. But that wasn’t unusual.

“I noticed you were closed yesterday.”

“Yes, I had to go out and collect computers that needed repairing. I have contracts with a lot of the major businesses around Leeds and West Yorkshire, so there’s always enough work.”

“Good to hear it. For a minute when I walked in, I thought you might have been having a closing down sale.”

Johnson seemed confused for a few seconds, then laughed.

“Oh, the mess.” He pointed to the piles of machines. “I’m too busy to clean up, but I know where everything is, don’t let that fool you.”

“It doesn’t,” replied Thornton.

Bob Anderson had stopped staring out of the window and was now pacing the floor, lifting the odd carcass, as if he was trying to work out what the hell was wrong with them. Thornton knew that wouldn’t be the case. His partner was a bit of a technophobe. Kept well away from things he didn’t understand. Thornton noticed Graham Johnson frown as he watched Anderson. Perhaps he didn’t approve of having his shop casually searched.

Frank pulled out a blown-up photocopy of the SIM card taken from the implantable insulin pump. “Know anything about these?”

Johnson leaned forward. “I’ll say. It’s a subscriber identification module.”

“Pardon,” said Thornton.

“A SIM card.”

“I know what it is. I just wondered if you knew anything about them.”

“How big was it? Do you have a life-size photo, or any dimensions?”

“What for?”

“They come in different sizes. Which one have you got?”

Thornton suddenly felt out of place, and consulted all his notes before saying it was the micro SIM card.

“The first SIM card was made in 1991 by Munich smart card maker Giesecke & Devrient, who sold them to the Finnish wireless network operator Radiolinja,” continued Graham Johnson whilst staring at the photocopy. “It securely stores the service subscriber key used to identify a subscriber on mobile telephony devices such as mobile phones and computers. The SIM card allows users to change phones by simply removing it from one mobile phone and inserting it into another mobile phone, or broadband telephony device.”

Thornton quickly realized he had to be very careful with Graham Johnson. His manner indicated he was a logical person who displayed little or no emotion. He would probably answer all Thornton’s questions honestly, but if he started to ask Johnson about his specialised field, he would simply swamp them with his knowledge, unaware that he was doing it.

“What I meant, Mr Johnson, was do you recognise it?”

“As it is, no. I could stand here all day and talk technical but it won’t mean anything to you, and I’ll end up boring you to death. You’re in my territory now.

“All I will say is SIM cards are identified on their individual operator networks by a unique IMSI. Mobile operators connect mobile phone calls and communicate with their market SIM cards using their IMSIs. The first three digits represent the mobile country code. The next two or three digits represent the mobile network code. The final digits represent the mobile station identification number. Normally there will be ten digits, but there could be fewer in the case of a three-digit MNC, or if national regulations indicate that the total length of the IMSI should be less than fifteen digits.”

Thornton was beginning to wish he hadn’t started the conversation. He had, however, picked up something useful.