‘I’ve already gone. I was supposed to give a month’s notice, but the landlord wants to redecorate and put the place on the market, so he let me go early. It’s all worked out really well.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Actually, that’s not the only reason I’m calling,’ Cathy said. She hesitated. ‘I want to withdraw my statement.’
‘Has someone been giving you grief? Did the Metro article cause problems for you? Because if you’ve been threatened—’
‘No, it’s nothing like that. I just want to put it behind me.’ She sighed. ‘I feel bad – I know you’ve been trying so hard to find out who took my keys, and you were great when I told you I thought someone had been in the house.’
‘We’re close to finding the person behind the website,’ Kelly interrupted. ‘When we charge them we’ll need your evidence.’
‘You’ve got other witnesses though, haven’t you? Other crimes? Those poor girls who were killed – those are the crimes that matter, not mine.’
‘They’re all important, Cathy. We wouldn’t investigate them if we didn’t believe that.’
‘Thank you. And if I thought my evidence would make all the difference, I’d give it, I promise. But it won’t, will it?’
Kelly didn’t answer.
‘I have a friend who gave evidence in a case last year,’ Cathy said. ‘She got hassled for months by the offender’s family. I don’t need that sort of aggravation. I’ve got a chance to make a fresh start, in a brand-new house no one else has the keys for. It was a scary thing to happen but I wasn’t hurt – I just want to forget about it.’
‘Can I at least let you know when we charge someone? In case you change your mind?’
There was a lengthy pause.
‘I guess so. But I won’t change my mind, Kelly. I know putting someone behind bars is important, but surely how I feel must count for something, too?’
It was always about the victims, Kelly thought, annoyed by the suggestion that it wasn’t. She had thought Cathy one of the more reliable witnesses in this case, and she was disappointed to be proved wrong. She opened her mouth to warn Cathy her refusal to give evidence could well result in her being treated as a hostile witness; held in contempt of court for failing to cooperate.
Then she stopped. Did the pursuit of justice ever justify treating a victim as though they were in the dock? Thoughts of Lexi arrived unbidden in her head. She took a deep breath before speaking.
‘The way victims feel is the only thing that matters. Thanks for letting me know, Cathy.’ Kelly ended the call, leaning against the wall and shutting her eyes; walking back to the incident room only when she was confident she had her emotions under control. Briefing had finished and the MIT office was once again buzzing with activity. She walked over to where Andrew Robinson was sitting next to Nick, and moved a chair from a nearby desk so she could join them.
‘Still following the money?’ Kelly asked, remembering the phrase the Cyber Crime DC had used at their last meeting.
‘We certainly are. I’ve tracked the credit card payments from the DI, from Gordon Tillman and from Luke Harris, all of which have been paid into a PayPal account – like this.’ Andrew took a blank sheet from the printer and wrote three names – RAMPELLO, TILLMAN, HARRIS. ‘The money goes from these three sources’ – he drew arrows from each of the names – ‘to here’ – Andrew sketched a box around the word ‘PayPal’ – ‘then continues to here.’ An arrow, and another box, this time around the words ‘Bank Account’.
‘And this account belongs to our offender. Right?’ Nick said.
‘Spot on.’
‘Can we get the details?’
‘Already got them.’ Andrew caught Kelly’s hopeful expression. ‘It’s a student account in the name of Mai Suo Li. I’ve got copies of the identification documents used to open it, and they’re all kosher; passport control confirms Mai Suo Li left the UK for China on July tenth this year and hasn’t returned.’
‘Could he be operating the site from China?’
‘It’s possible, but I can tell you now we won’t get anywhere with the Chinese authorities.’
It was making Kelly’s head hurt.
‘In the meantime I can tell you your offender uses a Samsung device to transfer funds from PayPal to the bank account. I can’t say whether it’s a phone, a tablet, or a laptop, but it’s a safe bet it’s something portable.’
‘How do you know?’ Kelly said.
‘Every time your phone is turned on it sends signals out as it searches for Wi-Fi or Bluetooth. If it was a home computer you’d expect a fixed location, but the results suggest a degree of thought into avoiding detection.’ Andrew handed a piece of paper to Nick, who moved his chair a fraction so Kelly could see it too. ‘If the Wi-Fi was switched on all the time I’d expect hundreds more locations, but as you can see, they’re few and far between. This suggests the device is being turned on only for specific purposes; almost certainly to transfer money from PayPal to the account. My guess is this is a dirty phone, not his regular one.’
Typed on to the sheet of paper was a list of locations. The top one was underlined.
Espress Oh!
‘What’s that?’
‘A coffee shop near Leicester Square, and our man’s preferred location for activity on his dirty phone. On three occasions in the last month he’s used their Wi-Fi to transfer money from PayPal to his bank account. You’ll find the dates and times below.’
‘Nice work,’ Nick said.
‘Now it’s down to old-fashioned policing methods, I’m afraid.’ Andrew looked pleased with himself, and rightly so. Kelly and the DI were on firmer ground now. A coffee shop in a busy place like Leicester Square would have CCTV, maybe even conscientious members of staff who would remember a particular customer on a particular day. If they could pull some decent stills from the footage they could get national coverage for a case as serious as this one.
‘Sir!’ The call came from the other side of the room. ‘Response are on their way to Crystal Palace. We’ve had an activation on Zoe Walker’s alarm.’
Nick was already grabbing his jacket. He looked at Kelly. ‘Let’s go.’
28
‘You tripped me up!’ Isaac says, looking up at Megan. He puts a hand on the road to push himself up. The small crowd of people that had gathered to watch the excitement begins to separate.
‘Yes,’ she says. She stoops and begins picking up the scattered coins littering the road. I help her, if only to stop myself from staring at Isaac, who appears both mildly affronted and amused by what’s happened. ‘You were chasing her,’ Megan adds, with a shrug that suggests it was really the only course of action available to her.
‘I was catching up with her,’ Isaac says. ‘There’s a difference.’ He stands up.
‘Megan, this is my daughter’s …’ I trail off, not knowing what to call him. ‘We know each other,’ I finish.
‘Right.’
Megan doesn’t seem embarrassed. Perhaps, in her world, the fact that Isaac and I know each other means nothing. He could still have been chasing me.
He could still have been chasing me.
I brush the thought off as ridiculous before it can take hold. Of course he wasn’t chasing me.
I turn to him. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Last time I checked,’ he says, ‘it was a free country.’ He’s smiling as he says it, but nevertheless irritation seeps through me. I assume it registers on my face, because he decides to be serious. ‘I’m on my way to see Katie.’
‘Why were you running?’ I’m emboldened by the presence of Megan, who has stepped away but is watching my interrogation with interest, her guitar held loosely at her side.
‘Because you were running,’ he says. It’s so logical that I’m no longer sure how I feel. I hear the sound of police sirens in the distance. ‘I knew you were on edge about the adverts in the Gazette, and then Katie told me about the website. When I saw you running I thought someone had frightened you.?
??
‘Yes, you!’ My heart is still racing, and I feel the heady buzz of an adrenaline spike. The sirens grow louder. Isaac holds his hands skywards in an I can’t win gesture, annoying me further. Who is this man? The sirens are deafening; I look up Anerley Road and see a police car coming towards us, its lights flashing. The car pulls up ten metres in front of us; the siren is extinguished, mid-wail.
Will Isaac run? I wonder, and I realise I’m hoping he does. I want this to be it; the end of the adverts, the website, the fear. But he puts his hands in his pockets and looks at me, shaking his head as though I’ve done something utterly incomprehensible. He walks towards the officers.
‘This lady’s had a bit of a scare,’ he explains, and I’m so filled with rage I can’t speak. How dare he act as though he’s in charge? Dismiss what just happened as a bit of a scare?
‘Your name, sir?’ The policeman gets out a notebook, while his colleague – a woman – walks towards me.
‘He was chasing me,’ I tell her, and just saying it makes me think that it’s true. I start telling her about the adverts, but she already knows. ‘He began following me at Cannon Street, and when we got to Crystal Palace he started running after me.’ Had he run first, or had I? Does it matter? The policewoman takes notes, but seems uninterested in the detail.
A car pulls up behind the police car, and I recognise DI Rampello behind the wheel. PC Swift is with him, and I feel a surge of relief, knowing I won’t have to convince her about what just happened. DI Rampello speaks to the policewoman, who puts away her notebook and joins her colleague.
‘Are you okay?’ Kelly asks.
‘I’m fine. Except for Isaac scaring me witless.’
‘You know him?’
‘His name’s Isaac Gunn – he’s my daughter’s boyfriend. She’s in a play at the moment and he’s the director. He must have downloaded my commute from the website.’ I catch an exchange of glances between them, and know exactly what they’re going to say.
‘The website provides users with a means of following strangers,’ PC Swift says. ‘Why would someone you know need to use it?’
DI Rampello looks at his watch. ‘It’s not even midday. Your commute says you leave work at five thirty.’
‘My boss sent me home. That’s not a crime, is it?’
He is more patient than my tone deserves. ‘Of course not. But if Isaac Gunn had downloaded your commute and was using it to follow you, he wouldn’t have been successful today, would he? You’ve not stuck to the script.’
I’m silent. I think about the footsteps I heard at Cannon Street; the glimpse of an overcoat on the District line. Was it Isaac I saw then? Or someone else? Could I have imagined the feeling of being followed?
‘You should at least question him. Find out why he was following me; why he didn’t try to get my attention when he first saw me.’
‘Look,’ DI Rampello says gently. ‘We’ll bring Gunn in for a voluntary interview. Find out if there’s any connection with the website.’
‘And you’ll let me know?’
‘As soon as we can.’
Across the road I see Isaac getting into the police car.
‘Can we give you a lift home?’ PC Swift says.
‘I’ll walk, thank you.’
Megan reappears at my side as DI Rampello and PC Swift drive away, and it’s only then I realise she had melted away the second the police arrived. ‘So you’re all right, then?’
‘I’m fine. Thanks for looking out for me today.’
‘Thanks for looking out for me every day,’ she counters, smiling.
I throw a coin into her guitar case as she starts strumming the chords for a Bob Marley song.
The evening is crisp and cold. They’ve been forecasting snow for days and tonight I think it’s on its way. Thick white clouds hang above me, and the road sparkles with early frost. I replay the journey home from work in my head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment I knew someone was following me; the exact moment I broke into a run. The act of remembering is a distraction from what is really troubling me: what the hell am I going to say to Katie? That her boyfriend was stalking me? The closer I get to home, the more I doubt myself.
When I open the door I hear the radio playing in the kitchen, Simon’s tuneless accompaniment fading in and out in proportion to his familiarity with the lyrics. I haven’t heard him singing for a long time.
The front door bangs behind me; the singing stops.
‘I’m in here!’ Simon calls, unnecessarily. When I join him I see he’s set the kitchen table for lunch. ‘I thought you might like something hot,’ he says. There’s a pan bubbling on the hob; prawn risotto with asparagus and lemon. It smells delicious.
‘How did you know I’d be home early?’
‘I phoned you at work and your boss told me he’d sent you home.’
I think how much I’d like to live without someone monitoring my every move, then instantly feel ungrateful. The police, Graham, Simon: they’re trying to keep me safe, that’s all.
‘I thought he was going to sack me.’
‘Let him try. We’ll have him in an unfair dismissal tribunal before you can say “to let”.’ He grins at his own joke.
‘You’re very chipper. Can I assume the job interview went well?’
‘I had a call even before I’d reached the Tube station. They’ve invited me in tomorrow for a second interview.’
‘That’s fantastic! Did you like them? Does the job sound good?’ I sit down and Simon places two steaming bowls of risotto on the table. I have the sudden hunger that follows a period of high adrenaline, but the first mouthful turns to acid in my stomach. I have to tell Katie. She’ll be waiting, wondering where Isaac is. Worrying, maybe.
‘Everyone’s about twelve years old,’ Simon is saying, ‘the circulation’s only eight thousand, and I could do the job blindfolded.’ I open my mouth to ask about Katie, but he misreads my intention and cuts me off. ‘But, like you said yesterday, it’s a job, and the hours would be better than at the Telegraph. No weekend working, no late shifts covering the news desk. It would give me a chance to work on my book.’
‘It’s great news. I knew something would come up.’ We eat in silence for a while. ‘Where’s Katie?’ I say, as though it’s only just occurred to me.
‘In her room, I think.’ He looks at me. ‘Is something wrong?’
And at that moment I decide I’m not going to tell him.
Let him focus on tomorrow’s interview without worrying that he should be staying home to look after me; without worrying that Katie is involved with a potential stalker. I ignore the insistent voice in my head; the voice that says I don’t want to tell him because I’m not even certain I’m right.
I hear footsteps on the stairs and the unmistakable sound of Katie’s shoes heading towards the kitchen. She walks in, staring at her phone. ‘Hey, Mum. You’re home early.’
I look between her and Simon; a rabbit in the path of an oncoming car, wondering which side of the road to run to. Katie flicks on the kettle; frowns at her phone.
‘Everything okay, love?’
Simon looks at me curiously, but doesn’t say anything. If he can hear the note of anxiety in my voice I know he’ll put it down to what’s been going on. The ‘stress’ with which Graham has signed me off work.
‘Isaac was supposed to be coming over, but he texted to say something’s come up,’ Katie says. She seems surprised, rather than upset, and I know it’s because she isn’t used to being let down. I hate myself for being the one to do it to her.
I had assumed the police would have taken Isaac’s phone straight away. I imagine the conversation in the police car, or in custody.
I need to get a message to my girlfriend.
One text. Then hand over the phone.
Maybe it was nothing like that. Maybe they all got along famously: Isaac charming the female officer; getting chummy with her male colleague.
I really need to let my girlfriend kn
ow what’s happened – she’ll be worried. You’ve seen her mother, she’s not stable …
‘Did he say what had come up?’ I ask Katie.
‘Nope. It’ll be something to do with the show. He’s always working – I suppose you have to be, when you’re self-employed. I hope everything’s all right though – it’s curtain up in seven hours!’ She takes a Pot Noodle upstairs and I rest my fork on the edge of my bowl. It’s the opening night tonight. How could I have forgotten? What if Isaac is still with the police?
‘Not hungry?’ Simon says.
‘Sorry.’
I’ve dug myself into a mess I don’t know how to get out of, and for the rest of the day I prowl the house, offering Katie cups of tea she doesn’t want, braced for the moment she tells me she knows I had Isaac hauled off in a cop car.
A voluntary interview, I remind myself. He wasn’t arrested. But I know the distinction will mean little to Isaac. Or to Katie. At five Matt picks up her to take her to the theatre.
‘She’s just getting her stuff,’ I say. Matt stands on the step, and I feel the cold slide in through the open door. ‘I’d ask you in, but it’s … you know, it’s awkward.’
‘I’ll wait in the cab.’
Katie runs down the stairs, pulling on her coat. She kisses me.
‘Break a leg, love. Isn’t that what they say?’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
As Matt drives off, my mobile rings; PC Swift’s number flashing on the screen. I take my phone upstairs, pushing past Justin on the stairs with a hurried, Excuse me. I go up to Simon’s office and close the door behind me.
Kelly Swift doesn’t bother with niceties. ‘We’ve let him go.’
‘What did he say?’
‘What he said to you. That he saw you on the Tube and thought you looked anxious. He said you kept looking around you; that you seemed jumpy.’
‘Did he admit to following me?’
‘He said he was going to see your daughter, so naturally he walked the same way. When you broke into a run he was concerned, so he ran to catch you up.’
‘Why didn’t he come and speak to me?’ I demand. ‘When he saw me on the Tube? He could have approached me then.’