Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  Saunders looked thoughtful.

  ‘Worth it to definitely rule him out,’ Chips said. ‘Otherwise we’ve been looking in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Get on it when we get back,’ Saunders said. ‘Let’s focus on Alex Black for now.’

  Outside the sky was dark, weighty. The first drops of rain fell. Freddie pulled her hood over her head and Saunders kicked up a light jog to the car. Nasreen pulled her gloves from her pocket and fell into line with Chips.

  ‘You did a good job, lass.’

  The praise took her so by surprise that she forgot what she’d been meaning to say. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Had he been telling the truth before? Liam hadn’t accused anyone of assault. With a new lead there was no time to rake over it again. She had to trust Chips. ‘I’m sorry about before. I know you were just doing the best by the guv.’

  ‘And you were just doing your job. I see why he brought you in now.’ Chips kept his eyes fixed ahead. ‘You’re a straight arrow. Diligent. A good choice.’

  Tugging at her collar, Nasreen felt very hot. The focus was shifting to Alex Black, but Saunders and Chips now wanted to know all about Chloe’s case. She knew they’d be looking for similarities, links that could tie the two girls and the shadowy Alex Black together. She knew what the link was, or she had a fair idea: it was uncomfortably close to pointing right at her and Freddie. The discovery of the Apollyon’s Revenge account reinforced that. The name couldn’t be a coincidence; she had to eliminate him for herself. ‘Have you spoken to the guv?’

  Chips nodded, his lips pursed. ‘He’s holding up. His parents less so: the doctor’s had to give his mother a sedative.’

  Nas couldn’t imagine what it was like to know your daughter had been taken by someone who planned to hurt her. You’d feel powerless. She felt powerless. Thrust the painful thoughts aside. They were almost at the car now. She had to do it before she’d be overheard. ‘Sir,’ she said quietly and quickly, ‘I’m sorry to ask this, but do you mind if I sit in the front? I get travel sick.’

  ‘Course, lass.’

  ‘And do you mind if this is our little secret?’ There was no way she wanted DI Saunders to know.

  Chips raised his eyebrows, but it was playful. ‘He’s all right you know. He just likes to push people’s buttons.’

  ‘I noticed.’ He enjoyed it. It was a game. He was like a bored cat, toying with you till he’d had enough. Then he’d leave you eviscerated to die slowly. Any hint of what had happened with Burgone and she had no doubt he’d destroy her. Saunders liked finding a person’s weakness and exploiting it. Nasreen wouldn’t let him see hers. Not when they were so close. Not while there was still a chance they could save Lottie.

  Chapter 29

  Wednesday 16 March

  20:30

  T – 13 hrs

  Rain was hammering against the car, the windscreen wipers swooshing in time to the space-disco beats of Lindstrøm. Saunders jiggled to the music. He reminded Freddie of a puppet she’d seen operated by a dude off his tits at a festival. Manic, jerky twitches. And she’d not seen him have a single caffeinated drink all day. Nas, by contrast, was still and aloof in the front seat, staring at the hypnotic oscillations of the windscreen wipers on the glass. Once or twice Freddie had seen her head loll. But she’d jerk awake moments later. Was she thinking about him? The Hashtag Murderer? She’d promised it couldn’t be him. She’d lied.

  Chips was sitting next to Freddie in the back, reading through the printouts. The occasional grunt was interspersed with announcements of information he thought the rest should know. They were collecting countless examples of what a twat this Alex Black was. Like Hamlet’s dead dad, he popped up like a portent to impending crap. He was there, again and again. Before images were stolen. Before girls were doxxed. Always alluding to information that would help his ‘chosen warriors’ achieve their dreams. And their dreams were usually to see photos of girls without their pants on. Was Nas right: could it be him?

  ‘Surely if he’s sending them hacking instructions we can trace it?’ she asked.

  ‘He refers to sending them private messages,’ Chips said. ‘Chances are those are encrypted. If it’s part of the site we ain’t going to get it.’

  They were going round in circles. Apollyon’s Revenge sometimes signed his posts with an A, or an AB, but there wasn’t a single revelatory thing in any of them. The same phrases cropped up again and again:

  Who wants to play? You could be one of Apollyon’s chosen warriors. I can teach you. I can help you be great.

  His language was grandiose, removed from real life. He spoke like a character. He didn’t boast, as Liam had; the focus wasn’t on his ego. It was outwards: he was explaining, building a myth, reeling them in, and manipulating them. Just like the tweets the Hashtag Murderer had sent. It was an avatar. He wasn’t going to slip up like Liam. There were no personal details. The closest he’d got was suggesting that Chloe might ‘prefer to leave this realm’, before they started calling for the girl to kill herself. They had nothing at all on Alex Black. Freddie was getting a headache. She dropped the pages onto her lap and stopped to think. It was 20:36. Thirteen hours to save Lottie’s life. They’d already lost half a day. This wasn’t working. Her neck felt cold with sweat: clammy. She tried to wipe it away with her hand.

  Picking up her phone, she Googled Alex Black. The first search results were for an American teen actor, and a funeral director in Maryhill, Glasgow. After that were links to Are You Awake. Following them, images appeared along the top. One of a woman on all fours, naked, smiling suggestively at the camera. Another young woman who’d had her private images stolen. The same image appeared again; this time there were two men in the shot. You couldn’t see their faces, their penises were erect and ejaculating into the woman’s face. They’d been retouched onto the first image.

  ‘There’s a girl in here who’s had her photos retouched to make them look like porn shots. We should let your mates on the paedo unit know that,’ she said.

  Chips leant over to look at her phone and wrinkled his nose. ‘The Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015 for revenge pornography doesn’t include retouched images.’

  ‘What?’ Freddie was stunned. ‘It makes her look like she’s in bloody Debbie Does Dallas!’

  ‘Aye. Chances are, with an image like that, it’s an abusive ex looking to humiliate and punish the lass.’

  ‘That’s awful! Why the hell doesn’t the law cover that?’

  ‘The revenge porn laws are fairly recent. We managed to close down almost all of the dedicated revenge porn sites that were registered here in the UK. And the CPS have made a number of convictions for individuals. It’s often easier to get the ones that are ex-partners.’ Chips pointed at Freddie’s phone. ‘They’re known to the victims. We can do them for harassment. When they’re people like Liam, who just take a shine to a lass, it’s a hell of a lot harder to trace them. Think of the resources we’ve got on this.’ He indicated the other police in the car. ‘If we didn’t think this was linked to the kidnap investigation we’d be struggling to find the manpower to do it. Revenge porn peddlers have gone underground, onto anonymous message boards like Are You Awake. If the women don’t know who posted it, there’s nowhere to start.’

  She stared at the photo on the phone. ‘Is it always women?’

  ‘About twenty-five per cent of reported cases involve men,’ Saunders answered from the front. ‘Their images tend to revolve around gay iconography.’

  ‘It’s just another form of control,’ Freddie said.

  ‘Before we cleared out most of the dedicated sites there was a case of a young Muslim lass.’ Chips glanced at Nas in the front seat. ‘They’d mocked up some mucky images like that and sent them to the local imam.’

  Freddie felt sick. ‘The images were fake, right?’

  ‘But the elders didn’t know that. She was cast out of the community. Family cut her off. The lot.’ Chips was staring out the window now, as if he were reliving it. �
��Brave girl: her testimony got the site closed. They asked her for money to take the images down so we got them for extortion.’

  An entire life decimated by a fake photo. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. These people were deliberately trying to hurt others. Girls like Chloe. Alex Black had to answer for the pain he’d caused.

  ‘No one’s asked for money on Are You Awake, have they?’ There were no references to blackmail at all. So why were they doing it? For fun? Freddie closed her eyes and leant her head back. Wished she were back in her room, in her bed. Wished this horrific corner of the world hadn’t been brought into her life. But life wasn’t fair. Chloe hadn’t asked for this. Lottie hadn’t asked for this. They had no choice, so neither did she.

  Freddie looked at the screen again, scrolling down and past the other Alex Black search results. The next hit led to a site called the Maleosphere. She clicked through. A corporate-style ‘The Maleosphere’ logo spun repeatedly round on the home page. What was this?

  The Maleosphere’s mission is to propagate information exposing misandry at all levels of our society. We will educate men and boys about the threat from feminist governance and fight to end that despotism. The current institution of marriage is dangerous for men, and we seek to provide the tools men who are already married need to protect themselves. We demand an end to rape hysteria and false allegations.

  Oh god. Freddie scanned through the forums underneath. She recognised the juvenile terms straight away: ‘Mangina’ – a male feminist. ‘Incel’ – involuntary celibate. That’s what American mass murderer Elliot Rodger described himself as, before he went out and shot six innocent people because he wanted to punish women for not sleeping with him. This was an MRA site. Full of Men’s Rights Activists. And there was Alex Black’s name: again and again.

  Alex Black

  Senior Member

  I can help you get revenge on your cheating wife. Who wants to play?

  Alex Black

  Senior Member

  I can help you discredit your ex and get your kids back. Who wants to play?

  And he’d do this, Freddie knew, by either stealing their ex’s intimate photos, or creating fake ones to share online and send to everyone they worked with. All his posts linked back to Are You Awake. It was a recruitment drive. He was building an army.

  ‘Alex Black is all over the MRA sites.’ Her voice was heavy with disgust. ‘He’s basically advertising his services as someone who can destroy women’s lives.’

  ‘Email me the link.’ Chips rummaged in his pocket for a card. ‘I’ll get the tech lads to add it to the list. These websites tend to be fairly security conscious, but we might get lucky and find a link to him.’

  ‘Why don’t these people understand that feminism is about equality regardless of gender?’ she snapped.

  ‘Because fun-suckers like you bang on about it so much it sounds like a drag,’ Saunders said, turning the car.

  ‘That’s a load of crap and you know it,’ said Freddie. She could feel the white heat of anger searing through her.

  Saunders seemed to think it was a big joke. ‘I’m totally in touch with my feminine side, tell her, Cudmore.’

  ‘Your comments in front of the officers at Watford station were pretty derogatory,’ Nas said. Freddie blinked.

  ‘I was only having a laugh.’ Saunders was still grinning.

  ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t make sexual references about me in front of other people. Or at all.’ Nas’s ears were pink.

  ‘Do you think I pulled off a convincing performance, Chips?’ Saunders winked at him. Smug git.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Nas glared at him.

  ‘Oh for god’s sake, Nas!’ Freddie said. ‘He’s gay!’ For a detective she could be pretty slow sometimes. He had a photo of his boyfriend on his desk: the only personal item on it.

  Chips laughed.

  ‘What?!’ Nas’s mouth was open.

  ‘You’ve not got a problem with me shagging men have you, Cudmore?’

  ‘No … I … Of course not.’ Her face flushed.

  ‘We’ll have to send her on diversity training, won’t we, Chips?’ Saunders was drumming along to the radio with his fingers. Chips was chuckling. Nas looked like she wanted the ground to open up beneath her.

  ‘Phone’s ringing.’ Chips pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket, stretching as he did so and nearly filling the entire back seat. Freddie tilted her head to avoid catching a stray elbow. ‘It’s Green.’ He put it on loudspeaker.

  ‘Hello, Green,’ Saunders said. ‘We were just discussing Cudmore’s homophobia.’

  ‘We were not! I mean I am not. I do not have a problem with gay people.’ Nas was wriggling in her seat. Poor Nas, trying so hard to say the right thing. Freddie felt guilty for finding it funny, but it was so rare to see the perfect Nas put a foot wrong. She was usually the one doing that.

  ‘Right,’ Green said, clearly confused.

  ‘What you got for us?’ Chips said.

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. Alex Black is a fairly common name, so hundreds of hits on the DVLA and electoral register, but none that jump out with criminal records. Unless you count a sixty-seven-year-old guy done for poaching on Skye?’

  ‘Probably not our guy,’ Chips said.

  ‘He could be using an alias.’ Saunders scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Can you narrow it down by area? Go through those who live in a one- to two-hour radius of both Chloe Strofton and Lottie Burgone.’

  ‘It’ll take time, sir,’ Green said. Just thirteen hours to save the girl’s life, thought Freddie. Thirteen: unlucky for some. She realised she was scratching at her wrist, deep red grooves cutting into the skin. She sat on her hands.

  ‘Do it,’ Saunders said. ‘Then check against what we have on both girls, go back again and see if anything pops.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  They sat in silence after the call. Freddie could feel it in the air: despondency. Apprehension. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts. Everything was taking too long. Chips was reading through pages. Tilting her phone so it was turned away from him, Freddie clicked into Are You Awake. She selected ‘new post’, and typed:

  Hey bro, a mate said you could help me get some pics of this chick?

  She entered ‘Farvers4Justice’ as the username. Suitably MRA. Maybe she could draw him out, get him to send her something privately; something they could use. She pressed send. The post appeared on the message board. Her right leg was jiggly, drumming her fingertips against her knee. A reply! She refreshed so the message would show. Her stomach fell away. The floor reverberated. Her breath caught in her throat. She gripped a fistful of denim in her hand, trying to steady herself. No. This couldn’t be happening. She blinked. Swallowed. Focused on the words:

  [-] ApollyonsRevenge [Date -recent]

  Freddie Venton, I wondered if we’d have the pleasure of your company. I assume Sergeant Cudmore is with you? Welcome to the party. Who wants to play?

  Alex Black.

  Fuck. He must be monitoring the IP address on her phone. Was it him? The Hashtag Murderer? Freddie dropped her mobile. Dread flicked its glacial tongue over her. No. This couldn’t be happening. Outside, the buildings were growing more concentrated, taller, London folding in on them, pressing down. She felt her breath accelerate. She gripped the handle next to the window. Chips glanced at her. She had to keep calm. Had to say something. She opened her mouth but no words came. Her lungs were being squeezed. He knew who she was. He knew she was here. What did it mean? She had to warn them. He knew too much. He was too close. He was monitoring them. He was watching.

  ‘Nas!’ Her voice came out as a squeak. A breath. Not loud enough.

  ‘You all right?’ Chips reached towards her with a big hand and she recoiled.

  ‘She has panic attacks,’ Nas was saying. ‘You’re okay, Freddie.’

  ‘Oh perfect!’ said Saunders.

  ‘No,’ Freddie said. It wasn’t a panic attack, it was real p
anic. ‘No, I’m not okay.’

  ‘Put your head between your knees, lass.’

  Her hands were slick with sweat, fumbling for her phone. She had to show them. She had to warn them.

  Chips’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket.

  ‘DI McCain,’ he grunted into it.

  And Freddie saw his face sag, give, roll away into defeat. The others sensed it too. Nas had stopped talking to her and was staring at Chips, her face growing pale. Saunders turned the radio off. They all knew. Who wants to play? This wasn’t a game you won. The odds were stacked against them from the start: he was watching. He knew it was her posting the message. He knew she was here.

  Chips hung up the call, took a deep, heaving breath. ‘A body matching the description of Lottie Burgone has been found near Greenwich Deer Park.’

  ‘No!’ It was Nas who shrieked. Freddie just crumbled. They were too late. He knew who she was. He knew where they were. He was two steps ahead. Lottie had never stood a chance. Tears fell from her eyes. Game over.

  Chapter 30

  Wednesday 16 March

  20:50

  T – 12 hrs 40 mins

  Nasreen’s feet felt like clay as she stepped from the car. They’d arrived in sombre silence at the edge of the park on Maze Hill, Saunders slowing as they’d reached a parked squad car, its portentous blue light flashing and disappearing among the gathering trees at the edge of the woodland. He’d held his warrant card up to a uniformed PC she didn’t recognise, and they’d been waved in alongside them.

  ‘No need for you to come, lass,’ Chips was saying. For a moment Nas thought he was talking to her, but when she turned she could see him bent down to the car, talking to Freddie in the back. He was holding out an old-fashioned white cotton hanky. She imagined his wife lovingly ironing it for him, so he’d be smart at work, and a new deluge of horror crashed over her. She didn’t think she could do this. She was too frightened of her own voice breaking to try to offer words of comfort to Freddie who was snivelling on the back seat. She’d brought her here; she’d brought this tragedy into her life. Nasreen thought of how the suicide notes spelt out Apollyon, of how she knew both victims by extension, of how she could be the link. Of how she could have brought this heartache onto the Stroftons, onto Burgone and his parents.