‘They call it the mask of sanity. That’s what the doc said. She recommended a book on it if you want?’ Moast said.
‘What do you need me to do, sir?’ she asked.
‘We spoke to Sophie’s – to Imogen’s – old classmates. We’ve built up a pretty clear picture. Jamie, or James as he was back then, was controlling, abusive, both psychologically and physically. She never went to the police.’ Moast moved the papers on his desk with the tips of his fingers. He’d clearly been working on nothing else since the night at Freddie’s.
‘Too scared,’ Nas said. ‘Too ground down.’ She’d seen it before with domestic abuse cases. The victim too frightened to talk. Sophie had done well to get away. To start a new life. Albeit a brief one.
‘Yes,’ Moast nodded. ‘That’s all alleged from her friends, years ago, no actual witnesses so we can’t use it. But it gives us an insight. We found the same brand of supermarket bleach used at the crime scenes, key cutting equipment, the same plastic ties used to restrain Grape, and a knife matching the description of that featured in the Mardling photo on Twitter at his flat. He’d soaked the knife in bleach and put it through the dishwasher. The DNA sample is corrupted.’
‘Thorough. Meticulous. Fits with the MO.’ Nasreen shuddered. She’d chatted with Jamie. Sat next to him in the car. Hugged him goodbye at the end of the day. Thought of him as a friend. He’d driven her to Freddie’s house. He knew exactly where she lived. ‘He was the one who found the link between Mardling, Sophie and Mark Hamlin. Was it a set-up?’ she asked. Jamie had manipulated the case from the inside and they’d never suspected a thing.
‘Most likely. We still haven’t been able to trace Hamlin. We found two smartphones on him, one was an Android and running Tor; this software that encrypted his Internet activity. He was able to post messages while he was here at the station and we had no way of telling. We also recovered a laptop at his flat. Digital forensics are trying to crack into it now. We’ll get him. But a confession would help. The doctor reckoned he might talk to you. Want to impress you, like. You up to it?’
Nasreen thought about Freddie. She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. The doc said the trick is to always treat him like he’s smarter.’
Nasreen thought of all the deception, all the technology, the way they’d all been looking in the wrong direction. ‘He is,’ she said.
Nasreen eyed Jamie opposite her. His uniform buttons shone. She knew his shoes did too. ‘I’m glad you came, Nasreen. I wanted to see you again,’ he said. He was still manipulating them all. She tried to keep her face impassive. ‘Not frightened are you?’ Jamie asked. ‘I always admired your bravery.’ She steadied her hands on the desk. The blinds were pulled down. The only light a strip above them. ‘I admired your intelligence too.’ His watery eyes narrowed conspiratorially. ‘Unlike these other idiots,’ he whispered.
‘I came, Jamie. So let’s talk,’ she said. The tape machine hummed gently. Moast was just outside. ‘Can you tell me about you and Sophie, or Imogen as you knew her?’
Jamie raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay. Imogen would have liked you. You were very similar. She was pure: like you. Mired by those around her.’
‘I spoke to Melanie Cole.’ Saliva pooled in her mouth. She kept swallowing.
‘That parasite,’ said Jamie. ‘She wanted to take Imogen away from me.’
‘Melanie said you hurt Imogen. Hit her.’
‘Imogen was so pure, so innocent. When I found her she knew nothing. She’d been locked away in that old house with her aunt. The only things she knew of real life were from the telly they watched: Poirot, Miss Marple, Sherlock Holmes. Her batty aunt watched them every day. Imogen knew them word for word. Thought the world was populated by 1930s toffs. I had to help her, but sometimes she could be difficult. Like a naughty child. You’d discipline a child for their own good, wouldn’t you? I was like a father to Imogen. I only hit her when I had to.’
Nasreen thought of the Baker Street clue he’d tweeted, the ‘game is on’ reference. ‘Is that why you did the clues, Jamie? Because of the shows Imogen used to watch?’
He dipped his chin forward and looked at her. His face looked different. The wide-eyed simpering Jamie was gone. This was someone else. His eyes burned bright blue. Stone cold. He drummed his fingers lightly on the table. ‘You are a clever girl, Nasreen. All those old murder mysteries, that’s what we talked about when Imogen and I met. It seemed fitting. To make her the star of the mystery. Once I’d decided, I couldn’t let her stay out there in the real world. Not after she’d run away from me. After everything I’d done for her. I’d made her special. She was mine. She couldn’t just leave. There was a debt to be paid.’ He paused, his voice even, unfeeling, as if he were discussing a supermarket shopping list. ‘She liked Poirot best. Do you remember The ABC Murders?’
He’d killed her because he couldn’t have her. Because she ran away. Because he thought she was his property. Nasreen tried to think if she’d seen the television show. ‘I’m not sure, Jamie, why don’t you tell me?’
‘Well the very clever murderer in The ABC Murders tricks everyone into thinking there’s a serial killer on the loose, bumping victims off in alphabetical order. A distraction. From the intended victim. Of course that story’s just make-believe. What I did was much harder.’ Jamie’s fingers were still drumming rhythmically.
Nasreen felt her blood run cold. ‘A distraction? From the real motive?’ His fingers drummed. ‘You wanted to kill Sophie, but you knew that if it was just her then we might uncover her true identity…start tracing things back…maybe reach you? So Mardling, Grape, all this about the Hashtag Murderer was a diversion?’
‘It was masterful,’ he said. ‘I fooled everyone. The police. The media. The whole of the Internet. I had you all in the palm of my hand.’
‘Why the Internet, Jamie? Why Twitter? Was it because you and Imogen met in that computer class? I’ve seen DCI Moast’s notes. We know you applied to university. Brighton and others. For a Computer Science degree. They didn’t let you in?’
‘Imbeciles.’ He smashed his hand down on the desk. Nasreen’s heart was racing. Moast and Tibbsy were right outside. One shout and they’d be in here.
‘They were so stupid, they couldn’t see real genius when it was right in front of them. Idiots obsessed with their pitiful little academic exam results. Well, I showed them. They couldn’t just discard me. Couldn’t put me in a little box marked reject. I was the best coder. I built a programme to remote tweet from my Mac. I stood right next to you all in the police station and pressed send, and you had no idea. I’m a master of Tor. I’m untraceable. I can orientate objects in C++ with my eyes closed. Parallel processing, I’m fucking amazing. An IPv6 guru. I am the Hashtag Murderer. I am Apollyon. I had fans – those teen girls in Wales? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. That’s influence. That’s power. I put those petty-minded fools in their little boxes. Their little pigeonholes. Their little stereotypes. I made you all dance. I made you all follow me.’
Nasreen’s breath was quick. ‘Is that why you picked Dr Grape, because he was an academic, Jamie? One of those who hadn’t seen your real potential?’
‘He was a stupid fool. Patronising Apollyon. The most feared person online. He deserved to die,’ Jamie said. ‘A pedant. I screwed him up and stuffed him into his pigeonhole.’
‘And what about Mardling? Was he stupid too?’ She had to keep him talking. Keep him boasting.
His lip curled. ‘That cretin. He disgusted me. He came in all high and mighty when Mark Hamlin kicked off in his bank.’ So Jamie had taken the police report. Jamie was the link between Mardling and Hamlin. ‘I looked into him. All that filth he was spewing out. You don’t talk to women like that. He was scum. I did the world a favour. Pest control,’ he said. ‘One less troll. They played their parts perfectly.’ Jamie looked at her hand. It was shaking. He smiled. She pulled it away. Under the table. Into her lap.
‘And what about the cat, Jami
e? Sophie Phillips’ online account, her cat posts – was that all part of the plan?’
Jamie was still smiling. ‘Now I’ll admit I did underestimate you on that one, Nasreen. You saw straight away there was no cat. I should have left the phone I used for her posts there. That was the plan. But I was upset. She was so beautiful. Poor Imogen. If only she’d behaved herself.’
‘I remembered that when you drove us to Sophie Phillips’ flat, the day her body was found, you took a back route. Avoided all the traffic.’ Why had she not questioned it at the time? Why would Jamie know the back route to the victim’s home? If only she’d spotted it, she could have stopped this sooner.
‘Very handy of her to move so close,’ Jamie smiled. ‘Just a quick zip up the M1, and then along the A roads. I did it in under thirty minutes once; funny how no one will pull over a police car for speeding. It took me no time at all to get there and back.’
‘And you weren’t worried someone would notice the police car?’ Nasreen tried not to look away. She felt stripped. Naked. As if Jamie could see her very thoughts before they formed.
‘I’m not an idiot, Nasreen. I kept a van up there for when I got close.’
Nasreen dug her fingernails into her palm. ‘It was a nice touch with the coins – mimicking Mark Hamlin. I guess that was you too?’
‘Thank you.’ His eyes looked warm, heartfelt. Nasreen felt sick. ‘It’s all in the details. I spent some time with Mark – not much you understand, that flat was fetid – but enough.’
‘Where is Mark, Jamie?’ She kept her voice even.
‘Regent’s Canal. Surprised he hasn’t bobbed back up yet.’ He looked bored. ‘After his whole hissy fit when he was arrested we couldn’t really work together anymore.’
‘So you’re the reason he was screaming when he was arrested? He saw you, didn’t he – on the stairs up to his flat?’ She remembered Hamlin’s frantic desperation to escape.
‘He wasn’t very robust,’ Jamie sighed. ‘I’d been looking for someone I could work with, and when I met Mark after that complaint was filed against him, it was like a gift from God.’
Nasreen’s stomach contracted. ‘What did you do to him?’
‘I spent time with him. Bought him food. Bought food for those bloody cats he was obsessed with. Got him a nice shiny new laptop. But he was fickle. I had to train him to listen. To behave. A few techniques I picked up online from the Chinese and the Americans – nothing that would leave a physical mark, obviously. He was little more than an animal himself. Did you know gorillas use intimidation to gain and maintain their hierarchical dominance? I was Mark’s alpha. All he had to do was look after the laptop and look mental. I mean, that was hardly difficult for him was it?’ He laughed.
Nasreen managed to nod.
Jamie continued. ‘But he never really got my vision. I was trying to save him from his own pathetic existence. He’d go down in history: the Hashtag Murderer. Famous. But you can’t help some people. I terminated our agreement. I couldn’t risk him shouting his mouth off.’
He was deluded, she thought. No, worse than that: he seemed to see all the people he’d killed as mere pawns in his plan. Collateral damage. A means to an end. ‘Why join the force, Jamie?’
‘Great benefits package,’ he said, and as a faint smile appeared on his lips she saw something of the old Jamie. The one she thought she knew. It was the most unnerving moment so far. ‘I needed your resources,’ he said. ‘To keep track of everyone. It’s amazing what you have on record. And it was pitifully easy. I got myself a new name. Goodbye James Wakelin, hello Jamie Thomas.’
‘You joined the special forces first,’ she said.
‘Yes, a quick online search will tell you that’s the easiest route in. Less checks. I made myself useful. Transferred across as a PC. Nobody questioned poor nervous little Jamie, did they? Daft little Jamie who was sick when he saw the terrible crime scene.’ He laughed. Then stopped. ‘I like it when you wear your hair down, Nasreen.’ He held her in his gaze and she felt like she couldn’t move. ‘Aren’t you going to ask about her? Ready Freddie go away?’
Nasreen felt like her whole body contracted. She owed it to Freddie. After everything. She had to get the truth. ‘I…’ she stuttered.
‘It’s okay, Nasreen,’ Jamie smiled. ‘Call me by my real name and I’ll help you.’
Nasreen’s voice shook. ‘What about Freddie, James?’
‘Good. I like it when you call me that. Jamie was getting a bit tiresome. Bit of a drip, don’t you think?’ He looked like he was feeding off her fear. Enjoying it.
‘What about Freddie?’
‘It was too good, you see, when she turned up at the door of Mardling’s house. Of course, I knew she wasn’t a forensics officer – with that ridiculous hair.’ Nasreen felt sick replaying it in her mind. If only she’d spoken up to begin with, things might have been different. ‘She was my wild card.’ Jamie leant forward, lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t think there’d be any harm in having another ball in the air. Someone else to blame. Someone to help destroy the evidence. It was a master stroke. It was a sign: that she was a journalist. I’d set up the account already. I was hopeful it’d spread. I poured the petrol, but she lit the match.’
Bile burned the back of Nasreen’s throat. ‘Freddie never did anything to hurt you. She wasn’t a cliché. A pigeonhole.’
‘Don’t you see? I stopped her for you, Nasreen. A present. That day she shouted at you in the station. What she said about Gemma – the girl who tried to kill herself.’
Nasreen’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘How do you know?’
‘How do I know?’ Jamie laughed. ‘I know everything. I told you, they tried to use computers against me, and now I use computers against them. Against everyone. Everything is at my fingertips. The others were for Imogen, to give her the story she deserved. But Freddie Venton was for you, Nasreen.’
His words were twisting shards of glass cutting through her. She fought to stay calm. She owed it to Freddie. To Imogen. To everyone he had hurt. ‘There’s one thing I can’t work out, James. How did you get inside all their houses? Did you go in your police uniform?’
‘Oh, sweet Nasreen, of course not. The bobby on the beat is long gone. People would be alarmed if I came to their door like this.’ He flicked one of his buttons. ‘You need something far more regular, far more everyday; something that’ll let you inside. Finding a key to copy or propping a window open for later is easy then.’
‘What about Imogen, she’d not let you in?’ Nasreen struggled to put what he was saying together.
‘I asked her neighbour for her spare key. When you’re wearing the uniform, carrying the bag, it’s easy,’ he said.
She felt him enjoying her confusion. Her discomfort. Keep it going, she told herself. Just a few more minutes and then you never have to see him again. For Freddie. ‘What uniform, James?’
‘You’ll like this,’ he smiled. ‘BT Openreach.’
‘You mean…?’
His voice shifted down an octave, his eyes cleared, his whole face seemed to take on another look: altered. ‘Hello, sir, we’ve got reports of server issues in this area. Are you happy for me to come in and check your hub? Don’t want you without Internet access do we!’
Chapter 42
BRB – Be Right Back
16:00
Friday 27 November
Account Terminated
Nasreen stood in the incident room. Tibbsy looked shocked. Moast look resigned to it. ‘Thank you, Cudmore. I appreciate that can’t have been easy. You did a great job,’ he said.
‘Sir,’ Nas nodded. She was still shaking. Jamie would go down for this. ‘Do you mind if I take the rest of the afternoon off?’ she managed. ‘There’s somewhere I’d like to be.’ Tibbsy looked at the floor. Perhaps she should ask him along too?
‘Of course,’ Moast said. ‘Tibbsy, give us a moment please?’
‘Guv,’ Tibbsy nodded. ‘Nasreen,’ he gave her a smile. Then disappeared
toward the canteen.
‘Sergeant Cudmore, I want you to know that I’ll be recommending you for promotion. Your actions on this case have been…’ Moast paused. Seemed to search for the right word. Failed.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Being made inspector, progressing, it was all she’d wanted. Everything she’d worked for. She’d caught the Hashtag Murderer. She’d caught Jamie. The image of Freddie, blood-soaked, broken, clutched in Tibbsy’s arms, flashed across her mind. It haunted her. Would any of them be the same after this? They were all tainted. They could have stopped Jamie at any time, if only they’d realised earlier. Any one of them. Her promotion, her win, had come at too high a cost.
Moast looked like he might try and hug her. That would’ve made Freddie laugh, she thought wryly. In the end he extended a hand for her to shake. ‘Good job, Nas.’
Nasreen walked out of Jubilee station. The flagship of the East End force. The wind blew an empty takeaway chicken box across her path. She pulled her coat tight around her. Christmas shoppers and excitable kids ran past. Fairy lights and tinsel twinkled in the shop windows. She’d get to spend this year with her parents. Compassionate leave: the Superintendent didn’t want her back till the New Year. All this special treatment. Nasreen shook her head. She’d just done her job. She was a policewoman. She was trained. She was supposed to take on criminals like Jamie. Everyone kept telling Nasreen she was a hero, but she knew there was only one person who’d given more than was expected. Freddie. She should never have been put in harm’s way. It was Freddie who had acted selflessly, above and beyond the call of duty.
She saw the number 277 bus and ran for it. Inside, the windows were steamed from the heat of weary workers. The night was already drawing in, and it was barely 4pm. She struggled to see out past the woman with the buggy and an auburn-haired lady leaning against the window. She wasn’t sure precisely where she needed to stop. Everyone staring at their phones, the pale illumination of their faces reminded her of torches under chins for ghost stories round the fire at Brownies. Her, Gemma and Freddie. She swallowed. It was here. She pressed the button.
Follow Me: A chilling, thrilling, addictive crime novel Page 31