I See You

  I wanted the drawer to be empty. I wanted it to contain nothing more than a dusty paperclip and a broken pencil. I wanted it to prove to Katie – to me – that Simon has nothing to do with the website.

  It isn’t empty.

  Scraps of paper, torn from a spiral pad, lie innocently on one side of the drawer. Grace Southeard, the first is headed, above a series of bullet-points.

  36

  married?

  London Bridge.

  I pick up the sheaf of papers and look at the second.

  Alex Grant

  52

  Grey hair, bobbed. Slim. Looks good in jeans.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. I remember how reassuring Simon was, that night we went out for dinner, when I was so worried about the adverts.

  Identity theft, that’s all it is.

  ‘What have you found, Mum?’ Katie walks towards me. I turn the papers over but it’s too late, she’s already seen them. ‘Oh my God …’

  There’s something else in the drawer. It’s the Moleskine notebook I gave Simon for our first Christmas together. I pick it up; feel the soft leather beneath my fingertips.

  The first few pages make little sense. Half-written sentences; words underlined; arrows drawn from one boxed name to another. I flick through the notebook and it falls open at a diagram. In the centre, the word ‘how?’ surrounded by a hand-drawn cloud. Around it, more words, each in their own clouds.

  Stabbing

  Rape

  Asphyxiation

  The book falls from my hands, landing in the open drawer with a dull thud. I hear Katie’s strangled cry and I turn to comfort her, but before I have a chance to say anything there’s a noise I instantly recognise. I freeze and look at Katie, and I know from her face she’s recognised it too.

  It’s the bang of the door at the bottom of the stairs.

  31

  ‘Coffee.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Kelly hadn’t eaten all day but she didn’t think she could stomach anything. Diggers had hung around for half an hour after dismissing her, before disappearing to do whatever a nearly retired DCI did with an accumulation of rest days in lieu. He hadn’t spoken to Kelly again; only paused by Nick’s desk on his way out, for a muttered conversation Kelly had been certain was about her.

  ‘It wasn’t a suggestion,’ Nick said. ‘Get your coat, we’re going across the road.’

  The Starbucks on Balfour Road was more of a takeaway than a café, but it boasted two high stools in the window, which Kelly commandeered, while Nick got the drinks. Kelly ordered a hot chocolate, suddenly craving its sweet comfort. It arrived topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with chocolate, looking embarrassingly gauche next to Nick’s flat white.

  ‘Thank you,’ Kelly said, when it became clear Nick wasn’t going to do the talking.

  ‘You can get the next ones,’ he said.

  ‘For bailing me out, I mean.’

  ‘I know what you meant.’ He fixed her with an unsmiling gaze. ‘For future reference, if you fuck up, or you do something stupid, or for some other reason you’re likely to need bailing out, for God’s sake tell me. Don’t wait until we’re sitting in the DCI’s office.’

  ‘I really am sorry.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘And very grateful. I didn’t expect you to do that.’

  Nick took a sip of his coffee. He grinned. ‘To be honest, I didn’t expect me to, either. But I couldn’t sit by and see one of the best detectives I’ve worked with’ – Kelly looked down at her hot chocolate to hide how pleased she was – ‘get the boot for doing something so monumentally stupid as to use her position for some sort of personal campaign. What exactly were you doing?’

  The pleasurable flush Kelly had felt at Nick’s compliment disappeared.

  ‘I think an explanation is the least you owe me.’

  Kelly spooned some of the warm cream into her mouth, feeling it dissolve on her tongue. She tested the words out in her head before she spoke. ‘My sister was raped in her first year at Durham University.’

  ‘That much I gathered. And the offender was never caught?’

  ‘Never. There had been several suspicious incidents prior to the rape; Lexi found cards in her pigeonhole asking her to wear certain clothes – outfits she had in her wardrobe – and once someone left a dead goldfinch outside her door.’

  ‘Did she report it?’

  Kelly nodded. ‘The police weren’t interested. Even when she told them she was being followed they just said they’d make a note of it. She had a late lecture on a Thursday evening and no one else walked back the same way as her, so she was on her own. The night it happened she was on the phone to me. She called because she was feeling nervous – she said she could hear footsteps behind her again.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Kelly felt her eyes burn with the threat of tears. She swallowed hard. ‘I told her she was imagining it.’ She could hear Lexi’s voice, even now; breathless as she walked to halls.

  ‘There’s someone behind me, Kelly, I swear. Just like last week.’

  ‘Lex, there are seventeen thousand students at Durham – there’s always someone behind you.’

  ‘This is different. They’re trying not to be seen.’ Lexi spoke in an urgent whisper, Kelly straining to hear every word. ‘When I turned round just now there was no one walking, but they’re there, I know it.’

  ‘You’re getting yourself in a state. Give me a call when you get home, yeah?’

  Kelly had been getting ready to go out, she remembered. She’d cranked the music up as she did her hair; threw another rejected dress on the pile at the end of the bed. It never crossed her mind that Lexi hadn’t called, until her mobile had rung with a number she hadn’t recognised.

  ‘Kelly Swift? This is DC Barrow-Grint from Durham police. I’ve got your sister with me.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Nick said gently. Kelly shook her head.

  ‘He wouldn’t have attacked her if I’d stayed on the phone.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘If he had, I’d have heard – I’d have been able to call the police straight away. It was two hours before Lexi was found – she’d been beaten up so badly she could hardly see – and by that time the offender was long gone.’

  Nick didn’t contradict her. He turned his coffee cup around in its saucer until the handle was facing him, cupping both hands around it. ‘Does Lexi blame you for what happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. She must do.’

  ‘You haven’t asked her?’

  ‘She won’t talk about it. Hates it when I do. I thought she’d be affected for months – for ever, even – but it was as though she just drew a line under the whole thing. When she met her husband she sat him down and said “There’s something you need to know”, and she told him the whole story then made him promise never to mention it again.’

  ‘She’s a strong woman.’

  ‘You think so? I don’t think it’s healthy. Pretending something didn’t happen isn’t the way to deal with a traumatic event.’

  ‘You mean, it’s not the way you deal with traumatic events,’ Nick said.

  Kelly looked at him sharply. ‘This isn’t about me.’

  Nick drained his coffee and set the cup carefully on the saucer before looking Kelly in the eye. ‘Exactly.’

  Kelly’s mobile rang as they returned to work. She hung back at the top of the stairs, avoiding the noise of the busy MIT office. It was Craig, from the CCTV hub.

  ‘Kelly, have you seen BTP’s internal briefing today?’

  She hadn’t. It was hard enough to keep up with the volume of emails relating to this job, without reading her own force’s daily missives.

  ‘The CCTV room here has been compromised. Given what you told me the other day about your Met job, I thought I should give you a ring.’

  ‘A break-in?’

  ‘Worse. A hacking.’

  ‘I thought that was impossible?’
>
  ‘Nothing’s impossible, Kelly, you should know that. The system’s been sluggish for a few weeks; we called an engineer and when he came to take a look he identified some malware. We’ve got a firewall in place which makes it nigh-on impossible to be hacked over the web, but doesn’t stop someone physically introducing viruses to the system.’

  ‘An inside job, then?’

  ‘All the staff were interviewed in turn this morning by the superintendent, and one of the cleaners broke down. Said she’d been bribed to carry a USB stick in and put it in the main computer. Of course she claims to have had no idea what she was doing.’

  ‘Bribed by whom?’

  ‘She doesn’t know his name, and conveniently doesn’t remember what he looks like. She says she was approached on the way to work one day and offered more than a month’s salary for a few minutes’ work.’

  ‘What’s the extent of the hacking?’

  ‘The malware introduces a programme which talks to the hacker’s computer and replicates the entire system. They can’t control the camera direction, but the bottom line is whatever our control room sees; the hacker can see.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Does it fit with what you’re dealing with?’

  ‘It’s certainly possible.’ Despite her good working relationship with Craig, Kelly was mindful of what Diggers might say, if she were to release any more information than necessary. The last thing she needed was another telling off, although there was no doubt in her mind the two jobs were related.

  ‘Our offender’s been using London Underground’s own cameras to stalk women,’ Kelly announced, walking into the office and interrupting a conversation Nick was having with Lucinda. She filled them in on the call from Craig. ‘BTP’s Cyber Crime unit are there now, but although they’ve identified the malware, it’s less straightforward to eradicate it.’

  ‘Couldn’t they switch off the whole system?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘They could, but then the entire city would potentially be at risk, instead of—’

  ‘Instead of a small number of women definitely at risk,’ Nick finished. ‘We’re between a rock and a hard place.’ He stood up, his whole body energised, and Kelly realised how much he thrived on the adrenaline of a fast-moving investigation. ‘Right, we need a statement from your CCTV contact, and I want that cleaner nicked for unauthorised access to computer systems with intent to commit crime.’ He looked around for the HOLMES loggist, who was already entering the actions into the laptop in front of him. ‘And get Andrew Robinson here. I want to know where that CCTV feed is being copied to, and I want to know it now.’

  32

  There’s no time to do anything but stand there and wait for Simon to come up the stairs.

  I reach for Katie’s hand, only to find it already sliding into mine. I squeeze it tightly and she squeezes it back. It’s something we used to do when she was little, walking to school. I’d squeeze once, and she’d do the same: she’d squeeze twice and I’d mirror it. Morse code for mother and child.

  ‘Three means “I love you”,’ she told me once.

  I do it now, not knowing if she’ll remember, listening to the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs. Instantly Katie returns the message, and I feel the hot stab of tears.

  There are thirteen steps from the landing.

  I count the footsteps as they grow closer. Eleven, ten, nine.

  My hand is clammy in Katie’s, my heart beating so fast I can’t distinguish between its beats. She squeezes my fingers so tightly it hurts, but I don’t care – I’m squeezing hers just as hard.

  Five, four, three …

  ‘I used my key; I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Melissa!’

  ‘Oh my God, you almost gave us a heart attack.’ Relief makes Katie and me laugh hysterically.

  Melissa looks at us strangely. ‘What are you two up to? I called you at work and your boss said you were off sick – I just popped round to see if you were okay, and I was worried when you didn’t answer the door.’

  ‘We didn’t hear it. We were—’ Katie breaks off and looks at me, unsure how much to share.

  ‘We were looking for evidence,’ I tell Melissa. Suddenly sober, I sink on to the chair by Simon’s desk. ‘It sounds crazy, but it looks like it was Simon who put all those women’s commutes online – who put my commute online.’

  ‘Simon?’ I see in Melissa’s face the disbelief and confusion I know still registers on my own. ‘Are you sure?’

  I explain about the Espress Oh! receipt; the email from PC Kelly Swift. ‘Simon lost his job in August – right before the adverts started. He lied to me about it.’

  ‘What the hell are you still doing here? Where’s Simon now?’

  ‘He’s got an interview at Olympia. I’m not sure what time – early afternoon, I think he said.’

  Melissa looks at her watch. ‘He could be here any moment. Come to mine; we can call the police from there. Did you have any idea? I mean – God, Simon!’ I feel my heart rate soar again; my ribcage thudding and my pulse singing in my ears. I’m suddenly convinced we won’t make it out; that Simon will come home while we’re all in the attic. What will he do, once he knows he’s been found out? I think of Tania Beckett and Laura Keen, unhappy casualties of his sick online empire. What difference would another three make to him? I stand up and grip Katie’s arm. ‘Melissa’s right, we need to get out of here.’

  ‘Where’s Justin?’ Fear grips me and I want my family together; I need to know that both my children are safe. Once Simon discovers we know what he’s done, there’s no way of knowing what he’ll do.

  ‘Relax, he’s at the café,’ Melissa says. ‘I’ve just come from there.’

  My relief is momentary. ‘He can’t stay – Simon will know to find him there. Someone will have to take over.’

  Melissa has snapped into business mode. She reminds me of a paramedic at a major disaster, issuing practical help and soothing words. ‘I’ll call him and tell him to shut up shop.’

  ‘Are you sure? He might—’

  Melissa cups my face between her hands. She puts her face close to mine, forcing me to focus on what she’s saying. ‘We need to get out of here, Zoe, do you understand? We don’t know how much time we’ve got.’

  The three of us clatter down the stairs on to the carpeted first-floor landing and continue down to the ground floor without stopping. In the hall Katie and I take our coats from where they’ve been slung over the banister. I look around for my bag but Melissa stops me.

  ‘There’s no time. I’ll come for it once you and Katie are safe next door.’

  We slam the front door and run down the path without bothering to lock it behind us, turning immediately in through Melissa’s garden gate. She unlocks the door and ushers us through to the kitchen.

  ‘We should lock ourselves in,’ Katie says. She looks between Melissa and me, fear written across her face. Her bottom lip trembles.

  ‘Simon’s not going to try and get in here, love, he doesn’t even know we’re here.’

  ‘Once he sees we’re not at home he’s bound to try here. Lock the door, please!’ She’s close to tears.

  ‘I think she’s right,’ Melissa says. She double-locks the front door, and despite what I said to Katie, I’m reassured by the sound of the barrel shooting home.

  ‘What about the back door?’ Katie says. She’s shaking, and I’m filled with rage. How dare Simon do this to my daughter?

  ‘It’s always locked. Neil’s paranoid about burglars – he won’t even keep the key where it can be seen from the garden.’ Melissa puts an arm around Katie. ‘I promise you, sweetheart, you’re safe now. Neil’s working away this week, so you can stay here as long as you want. Why don’t you put the kettle on, and I’ll call this PC Swift and tell her about the receipt you found. Have you got her number?’

  I take my phone out of my pocket and unlock it, scrolling through until I find Kelly Swift’s number. I hand Melissa the phone. She pe
ers at it.

  ‘I’ll get more reception upstairs. Give me two ticks. Do me a favour and make me a coffee, will you? The capsules are next to the machine.’

  I switch on the coffee machine; a new-fangled chrome thing that froths milk and mixes cappuccinos and goodness knows what else. Katie crosses the kitchen. She looks through the bi-fold doors to the garden, and rattles the handle.

  ‘Locked?’

  ‘Locked. I’m scared, Mum.’

  I try to keep my voice calm, belying the turmoil I feel inside. ‘He won’t get us here, love. PC Swift will come and talk to us, and they’ll get officers to arrest Simon. He can’t hurt us.’

  I stand in front of the coffee machine and place my hands flat on the worktop; the granite cold and smooth beneath my palms. Now that we’re safely out of the house my fear is turning to anger, and I’m struggling to keep it hidden from Katie, who is already teetering on the edge of hysteria. I think of the lies Simon told me during the months when I thought he was still working; his insistence, when I brought home the Gazette all those weeks ago, that it wasn’t me in the photo. How could I have been so stupid?

  I think of the debt Simon claimed to have run up. The website must be bringing in far more than he ever earned at the Telegraph. No wonder he didn’t get another job – why would he bother? The role he’s been called back for today – I doubt it even exists. I picture Simon sitting in a café, not preparing for his interview but scrolling through photos of women on his phone, copying details of their commutes from his notebook to upload to the website.

  Katie’s restless, pacing between the window and Melissa’s long, white table, picking up artfully arranged objects from the floating shelves. ‘Be careful with that,’ I tell her, ‘it probably cost a fortune.’