‘That man is depraved.’
‘We can talk discreetly here,’ said Nas, leading the woman into the meeting room. The phone on the desk was already connected so DI Saunders, Chips and Freddie could listen in. ‘Please: have a seat.’ Cynthia manoeuvred her hips into the chair and placed the folders she’d brought with her onto the table between them. Hopefully she’d agree to leave them behind.
Nasreen kept her manner clipped. They needed to find out fast if this woman did have any relevant info. ‘Cynthia, do you know who Alex Black is? In real life? Do you have any contact details for him?’
‘No,’ she said.
Nasreen felt her shoulders droop. ‘You’ve clearly been researching him for quite a while. You’ve never seen anything that would lead you to guess where he’s based?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Her eyebrows knitted together and she frowned, as if she hadn’t thought of this before. ‘I contact the girls, or try to.’ She tapped the files. ‘So that we have everything ready for prosecution.’
‘You’ve spoken to the girls featured on the site?’ This sounded more promising.
‘Most of them. I either contact them when they post themselves – trying to get the images taken down – or when they post their details.’
‘Do you mean when they dox them – share the girls’ telephone numbers?’ How many had they done it to?
‘Yes. And sometimes they post their work addresses, or their home addresses,’ she said.
‘Do they dox them all?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Some don’t even know their photos are there until I contact them.’ A look of sadness hooded her eyes further. Would it be better to remain ignorant?
‘And you’ve never spoken to the police about any of this?’ Nasreen asked.
‘Oh, I’ve tried.’ She sounded accusatory. ‘There was a woman officer at my local station – honestly, I thought she was on my side. She took me out for a cup of tea at some greasy cafe and said there wasn’t anything they could do about all these poor girls being victimised like this. They didn’t have the manpower. She suggested I turn my research over to the Internet Watch Foundation. But I wasn’t going to do that unless I knew they’d act on it.’ She rapped her ringed fingers against the folders. ‘Some of the girls in here are only fourteen.’
Nasreen sympathised with the officer who’d dealt with this prickly woman. The Are You Awake website was encrypted. The policewoman would have quickly found herself at a dead end. The way Alex Black had sourced the team’s mobile numbers, her email account, potentially breaching the police’s own intranet, showed how Cynthia Warner was trying to fight an opponent she could never beat. She was hopelessly out of her depth. ‘I’m sorry you were told that, Cynthia. I can promise we’ll look at what you have now.’
‘Now it’s too late. He’s got that poor girl!’ Her face coloured in angry raspberry-coloured blotches. ‘I knew something like this would happen!’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He’s evil!’ she spat.
‘There’s nothing else you’ve seen, something you might not have thought important at the time, that could suggest where Black is based? Alex has never posted photos that show him, or the place he is?’
‘No.’ Cynthia shook her head. ‘He’s too wily for that.’ She was so vehement, it was like she knew him. He was clearly real to her, very real. But she knew nothing more than they did.
Nasreen tried not to sigh. This was a waste of time. ‘Can I ask when you first became aware of Alex Black, Ms Warner?’
The woman seemed to deflate, her bosom collapsing down onto her stomach, her layered scarves drooping like the petals of a dying flower. ‘My daughter. One of his henchmen hacked into her computer. She’d never even sent the photo to anyone.’
Nasreen didn’t remember seeing a victim named Warner in the list of names they’d uncovered. ‘Did you get him to remove the images?’
‘Oh no.’ She shook her head. ‘The more I tried to reason, the more things he posted. Images that were fake, but awful. He told his disciples how to target Laney: she started getting texts.’ Like Chloe. ‘And then they sent fake photos of her, disgusting photos, to all the governors at her school. She’s a teacher.’
Nasreen put down her pen. ‘Did you report this, Cynthia?’
‘Laney wouldn’t let me. She just wanted it to stop.’ She had tears in her eyes. She wanted to comfort her, but she had to ask. ‘What happened?’
Cynthia took her glasses off and rubbed at her eyes; a smile touched her lips, but there was no joy in it. ‘She didn’t kill herself, if that’s what you want to know. After the photos were sent to the governors she was let go by the school. The headmaster was a lovely man, you could tell he felt dreadful about it, but he had no choice. Even though the photos were fake, the governors wouldn’t believe it, or they didn’t care. They said they couldn’t have her teaching children after that. That it had “compromised her professional authority”.’ The last words came out bitter. She paused for a moment, swallowed, and Nasreen had to lean closer to hear her. ‘She had a breakdown.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘He’s a monster. Manipulative, controlling. He gets under the skin of those boys. They think he’s the messiah.’
From what Freddie had shown her it was more like recruitment: Black targeted disillusioned young men. ‘Like a cult?’ Nasreen asked. She thought of the frenzy the Hashtag Murderer had inspired.
‘Alex Black inspires obsession. Evil!’ Cynthia jabbed the tortoiseshell glasses in her hands towards her. No wonder she was so emotional on the matter. It must be awful to see a person you love go through that. With a twinge, she thought of Burgone. Cynthia was a hurt and upset woman, but she’d amassed a huge amount of information on Alex Black – there must be something she knew, something he’d done that would tell them where to find him. Cynthia summoned the energy, or maybe the courage, to speak again. ‘Laney never went back to work. It was six years ago.’
Nasreen made a note to go back through Are You Awake to find Laney’s thread, to study it, to match the online with the real-life timeline. If there was anything she could do to bring this man to justice she would. She would try to help Cynthia and her daughter. ‘The site must have been in its infancy then?’
Cynthia nodded. ‘Yes, Laney was one of the first.’
‘Does Laney use the same surname as you?’
‘No, she uses her father’s surname: Gardem.’
That explained why Nasreen didn’t recognise her from the list Freddie was compiling. ‘She was only the second girl he targeted.’
Nasreen felt her heart quicken. ‘Do you know who was the first?’ They were combing through the threads, but it would take them hours, possibly days, to sort all of the posts into chronological order. Any time someone posted something new, that thread was elevated to first position on the message board.
‘Yes,’ Cynthia said with a sad smile. ‘A girl called Daisy Jones. She was only sixteen, poor thing.’
If Daisy was the first target, was it possible she had been known personally to Alex Black? If they found Daisy Jones, was there a chance they could trace him? But it was a common name. ‘Did you ever speak to Daisy Jones during your research?’
‘I tracked her down. Alex Black posted her contact details next to the photos of her.’ Cynthia made a noise like a laugh. ‘But she’d moved. Her whole family had. They emigrated. He forced them out of the country.’ Anger dripped from Cynthia’s voice. How many lives had this man destroyed?
‘Do you have contact details for her now? Where does she live?’ Nasreen was taking hasty notes. Saunders or Chips would already be running the name through the PNC.
‘The States, I believe.’
Nasreen caught the word and felt her hope fade. ‘You believe? You haven’t spoken to her?’
‘She wouldn’t speak to me. I found an email address. Her father replied: he said they’d done the best they could to forget what had happened. To move on.’ Cynth
ia looked angry again. ‘They refused to talk to me.’
But they might speak to me, thought Nasreen. To the police. This was important. ‘When was this, Cynthia?’
Cynthia pulled one of the folders towards her and undid the ribbon, moving her glasses to the end of her nose so she could peer through the bifocals as she flicked through the printed sheets inside. Small transparent coloured tabs stuck out from between the pages. ‘Here it is.’ Her rings creaked as she placed the other pages down. ‘I received the email on Sunday the seventeenth of November, five years ago. I have an email address for her and her father.’
Nasreen nodded. They could use that to try to source a number. Try to get hold of Daisy Jones. See if she could identify Alex Black. ‘And Daisy’s father: he gave no indication who Alex Black was?’
‘The message was short: he only said what I’ve told you already.’ She turned the printout to face Nasreen. She scanned the words: Cynthia had recited it almost perfectly. ‘Parents get like that sometimes. It’s happened before. They blame the girls for taking the photos in the first place. Think it’s best to leave it well alone. Brush it under the carpet and forget about it.’
Nasreen felt anger on behalf of Daisy. To go through something like that and have your own family hold you responsible; it was awful. She bit her cheek to stop it from showing on her face and in her voice. ‘Thank you. Do you know anything more about Daisy? You said you had her previous address – when the family lived in the UK?’
‘Yes.’ Cynthia turned back a few pages and Nasreen guessed each coloured marker denoted a different girl. A different victim. ‘Here you go.’ She turned the page to face Nasreen. Next to a photo of a pretty blonde with long wavy hair was a screenshot of a post on Are You Awake. And underneath was a typed catalogue of the victim: name, address, place of work and/or school. The words jumped out at her.
‘You’re sure this is right?’ She rested her finger on the paper.
‘Yes,’ said Cynthia, nodding. ‘Why?’
Nasreen felt her heart rate increase. This was it. Everything had been connected right from the beginning. ‘I’m going to need to take this, Cynthia, if that’s okay?’ The woman nodded, her face blotchy with emotion. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Ms Warner. Thank you.’
‘Please,’ Cynthia reached out and grabbed her hand, the cold metal of her rings pressing into her fingers. ‘Please get him.’
‘I will do everything I can,’ said Nasreen, looking into her sad eyes. She pulled away. DI Saunders, Chips and Freddie were already waiting in the corridor. Nasreen held the page up. ‘Daisy Jones went to Romeland High. She was the first victim. She was sixteen. What’s the betting there’s a personal connection and that’s where our Alex Black went too?’
Chapter 37
Thursday 17 March
01:40
T – 7 hrs 50 mins
‘I’ll get onto the US State Department and see if we can track Miss Daisy,’ said Chips, taking the papers from Nas’s hand. Freddie looked at her phone screen: it’d taken time to interview Cynthia Warner and get to grips with the information she had. They had less than eight hours left. Less than a working day. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage. Her palms were sweaty. If Alex Black had been at Romeland School then they could find him. They could find Lottie. But something was niggling at her, something Cynthia had said about Black inspiring obsession.
‘This must be more than coincidence.’ Nas’s cheeks were flushed, and Freddie recognised she was excited: this was their big breakthrough. ‘If we keep digging through the threads and find where the heroin came from, we might be able to trace that back to him. The CPS would have enough for assisted suicide, manslaughter or maybe even murder for Chloe? The links between the two girls’ cases show Black’s criminal activity has been increasing. For whatever reason, he’s got bored of engineering things from the sidelines. But there are enough similarities between the two girls that suggest we’re looking at the same guy. And that gives us an advantage.’
Saunders was nodding his head, but his mouth was turned down, as if he still wasn’t sure. Nas looked at her: she wouldn’t confess about the link between the Stroftons and them would she? Nas held her gaze for a second and then kept going. ‘Chloe went to Romeland High. The first victim of Alex Black’s website was Daisy Jones, who also went to Romeland High. I think that’s where this all started. This could be our chance to get him.’
Saunders nodded. ‘It makes sense. Get onto the school and see what you can find out.’
‘I’ll see if there are any previous jobs at Romeland High on the PNC: if they’ve ever reported a burglary, vandalism or anything, then there should be contact details on the system.’
‘And try the alarm as well. If we know which alarm system they use, we can speak to the company – they’ll have keyholder details,’ Saunders said.
‘Great,’ Nas nodded.
‘When you get through, get a full list of students in the same year as Daisy Jones. And the ones either side, in case Alex Black is an alias,’ Saunders said. ‘I’ll brief the guv and let him know what we’ve got. Let’s cross-reference this with Green’s work from the PNC. The tracker was picked up heading for the M11. She could have easily been taken to North Hertfordshire from there.’
‘Freddie, could you show Cynthia Warner out – is that okay?’ Nas said.
‘Sure.’ Freddie felt them gearing up around her; she’d keep going through the printouts, see if there was anything that linked back to Romeland High.
‘Thanks.’ Nas looked relieved to have it off her list. They were assembling the pieces of the puzzle. Aligning everything. Closing the net. They could do this.
Something was bugging her and she couldn’t place her finger on it. Finger. Fingers. She was sure it was something to do with that. She opened the door to the room where Nas had left Cynthia Warner. The woman was staring at the wall, a distant look on her owlish face. Freddie coughed. ‘Hi!’
Cynthia looked up, startled. ‘Hello.’
Freddie looked at Cynthia Warner’s hands, which were covered in tarnished silver rings; her fingers looked like stacks of coins. Something was making Freddie uncomfortable. What was it? Cynthia Warner was looking wary. Freddie forced a smile onto her face. ‘I’ll show you out.’
Cynthia pulled her leather handbag towards her as she stood. Freddie kept smiling, willing her not to ask what was going on. The woman scuttled through the open door.
‘You don’t have to see me out, I’m sure I can find my way,’ she said.
‘Security’s tight.’ Freddie’s face was aching.
Spots of colour appeared on the woman’s cheeks. Freddie didn’t trust herself to say anything else. The horror of it all pushed up from under her skin. They rode in silence in the lift, Cynthia merely nodding goodbye to Freddie, lost in her own thoughts about Alex Black.
‘Ms Warner!’ Lorna the receptionist called. ‘PC Goldstein is waiting outside to give you a lift.’
Cynthia didn’t turn. Outside there were still photographers. As soon as the woman stepped out the flashbulbs started. Freddie tried to breathe normally. Her jaw hurt. Lorna was still staring at her. She held a palm up in acknowledgement and the girl smiled and waved back. And Freddie saw it: fingers. She fought to keep the smile on her face, she fought not to run, but as soon as she was out of sight she pressed the lift button agitatedly and reached for her phone. She knew she’d seen that ring before. She pressed play on the video. What was it Cynthia had said: Alex Black inspires obsession. The screen sprang to life. Oh shit. They were making a mistake. Freddie sprinted from the lift. She had to warn them. Now.
Chapter 38
Thursday 17 March
02:15
T – 7 hrs 15 mins
Chips was trying America again; Saunders had his broad, V-shaped back turned away from them as he spoke into the phone. Nasreen had found the school caretaker’s mobile number from a previous burglary reported at the school. She had the phone in her hand when the door
flew open and Freddie careered in. ‘I knew it! I knew I recognised her!’
She didn’t want to deal with Freddie’s impulsiveness right now.
‘She’s the YouTuber!’ Freddie collided with her desk, and the pile of papers she’d been looking through tipped and scattered across the floor.
‘Careful!’ She bent to pick up the papers. It was like having a Labrador puppy in the office. Her back ached.
Freddie was right in her face. ‘Nas, will you listen to me.’
Nasreen screwed her eyes shut, willing herself not to shout. ‘Sure.’
‘Look!’ Freddie thrust her phone at her again. ‘Recognise anyone?’
Chips let out a sigh. ‘Still no answer.’
Nasreen took the phone. It was a video. A young, slim girl with blonde hair and quite a lot of make-up – false eyelashes, red lipstick – was talking to the camera in an animated way. Behind her was a bookcase strung with fairy lights. ‘What is this?’
‘A vlog,’ said Freddie. She felt like she’d seen the girl in the video before. ‘It’s Gracie Williams.’
Chips joined them. ‘She’s the spit of Lorna.’
That’s who she reminded her of: their receptionist.
‘Lorna is Gracie Williams.’ Freddie stabbed the screen with her finger.
‘What?’ Nasreen and Chips said at the same time.
‘Look at this.’ Freddie took the phone back and froze on a shot of Gracie Williams squeezing her boobs in what Nasreen assumed was a playful, flirtatious manner. Lorna would never do that. ‘Recognise that?’ Freddie zoomed in on the freeze frame of the girl’s hand. On her right hand was a large jade and gold ring.
‘So? They look alike and they own similar rings?’ Nasreen’s throat felt dry.
‘Not similar,’ said Freddie. ‘It’s unique. It was gifted to her after she hit two million viewers. A jewellery house made it for her specially.’
‘I’m in the wrong game,’ said Chips.
‘She did a whole post about it.’
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