Dom turns to the murder board and glares at the photo of Person of Interest 1, the man from the CCTV outside Kate’s building. ‘Who the hell are you?’
His phone starts buzzing. Pulling it out, he reads the caller name that’s flashing on the screen: Chrissie. He presses reject. Feels guilty. Tells himself he’ll call her back later, once he’s made some headway on the case.
He looks back at the board, tracking the lines of enquiry from each victim. There are few meaningful interconnections. The only thing similar were their deaths and how they looked when they died.
There’s a knock on the door.
‘Yeah.’
Parekh pokes her head into the room. ‘Jon Leighton’s arrived early to do the ID. He’s waiting downstairs.’
As they head to the ground floor to collect Leighton, Parekh tells Dom the tech guys have done a great job of cleaning the images for the identification.
‘They’ve got this new bit of software that can isolate unique faces from video. It’s cool, just out of beta testing. Did the job in a fraction of the time.’ She raises the buff-coloured folder she’s carrying. ‘We’ve got four hundred and sixteen male customers and six staff for him to work through. I contacted the pub to email the staff photos across. Thought it was worth covering all the bases.’
‘Great, good work.’ He watches her for a moment. She seems on the ball, but there are dark shadows beneath her eyes. ‘You all right?’
She blushes. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
Dom wonders which one she’s shagged. Not Biggs, surely. ‘Good night, was it?’
Her blush deepens. ‘Yes, sir.’
He doesn’t want to embarrass her. Nods. ‘Lets get a positive ID, shall we?’
They reach the bottom. Parekh pushes open the door out of the stairwell and gives him a relieved smile. ‘Amen to that.’
Jon Leighton looks knackered. They’ve been in the interview room for two hours; Dom and Parekh watching Leighton looking at the images. From over four hundred pictures, he’s narrowed it down to four.
That was twenty minutes ago. The windowless room is depressing at the best of times, but today there’s a bulb flickering maniacally in one of the ceiling lights.
Opposite him, Leighton’s hunched over the table, staring at the pictures. Dom doesn’t want to break his concentration, so he waits.
Leighton looks up at Dom. The laddish bravado of last night has long gone. He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, sorry. He could have been any of these.’
Dom tries to look encouraging. ‘I know it’s tough, mate, you’re doing well.’
Leighton exhales hard. He picks up one of the photos. ‘It could be this one.’
From his tone it sounds like he’s asking Dom rather than telling him. He needs Leighton to be sure. ‘Yeah?’
‘Maybe not. His hair might be too long.’ The estate agent frowns. ‘It’s hard to be certain. I’d had a few, you know? Can’t really picture him.’
Dom clasps his hands together beneath the table. Doesn’t say anything.
‘How about we try walking through what happened when you spoke to Kate Adams?’ Parekh says. ‘You can visualise yourself in the pub, what you did, the things you said.’
Leighton rubs his eyes. Seems unconvinced. He’s looking at Dom when he says, ‘Do you think it’s worth it?’
Dom knows from the flush that’s spread from the base of her neck up her throat that Parekh’s pissed off with the way Leighton constantly defers to him. He doesn’t blame her, but is glad she’s keeping her feelings to herself – they need to keep this guy sweet until he’s made an ID. He nods at Leighton. ‘It’s worth a go. Might help.’
‘OK.’ Leighton hunches over the table, elbows on the laminate, cradling his chin in his hands, and stares at the photos.
Dom looks at Parekh. ‘If you’re all right to carry on here, I’ll go check how Abbott’s doing.’
She gives a small smile. ‘Yes, guv.’
Standing, he glances at Leighton. ‘Take your time. Be certain.’
Leighton keeps staring at the pictures. Poor bloke looks like he’s on the verge of going catatonic.
By contrast, Abbott tells him Eva Finch is super-chatty. She arrived forty-five minutes ago, but she’s already worked through the images. Standing in the corridor outside interview room two, Abbott looks exhausted.
‘So she hasn’t picked anyone out?’ Dom says.
Abbott shakes his head. ‘She says she can’t be sure. All she remembers is a vague blur.’
Dom supposes it was a long shot; she’d said when they first spoke that she’d not had her contacts in that night, but still, it’s frustrating. ‘I guess that’s it for her then.’
‘Actually, she asked to have a word with you before she goes.’
Eva Finch looks embarrassed. She’s wearing more make-up than the last time he saw her, and her brown pixie cut is gelled into spikes, but even beneath the thick foundation he can see her blushing.
Dom sits down opposite her. Glad the lights aren’t on the blink in this room, and that with the thin window running along the top of the side wall there was at least a small amount of natural light. ‘You asked to speak to me, Ms Finch?’
She picks at the turquoise nail polish on her index finger. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s not because I didn’t want to help. It’s just that Kate’s a friend. I didn’t want to … I wanted to protect her reputation.’
Dom nods. Waits.
‘There was a guy, well, I don’t really know if there was a guy or not. I mean, they’re definitely friends, but I don’t know if they’re a thing or …’ She looks at Dom. ‘I just thought you should know.’
‘You’re saying Kate was seeing someone else?’
Eva shakes her head. ‘I don’t know if they were seeing each other, I just know they’d got close recently, in the past couple of weeks.’
‘Who is he?’
‘This looks bad, doesn’t it? Her parents are going to be so upset. I …’ She sighs. ‘His name’s Patrick Bartlett. He works with us, he’s one of the Nines.’
Dom pulls out his phone and taps the name into the notes function. ‘What does he look like?’
‘Tall, skinny. Brown hair, big beard. Wears those black-framed glasses.’
Doesn’t sound like either of the POIs from the CCTV, but he needs to follow this up. Kate Adams had a secret, and secrets are often the things that get people killed. ‘I’m going to need to take an official statement, and I need to interview Patrick Bartlett.’
36
CLEMENTINE
Death Stalker posted in Case Files: The Lover
New task list. Deadline: two hours (Bloodhound four hours).
Ghost Avenger: Kate Adams mortuary pictures
Witness_Zero: Follow-up witness from takeaway
Crime Queen: Kate Adams’s background
Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson: Reporter intel update
Bloodhound: Cross-reference victim data
The Watcher: Zara Bretton’s background
Justice League: Jenna Malik’s background
My head’s fuzzy from lack of sleep. My concentration is below par. I can’t stop thinking about the late arrival to the meet, the blond; I need confirmation he was Witness Zero. I look at the private message I sent over two hours ago.
The Watcher to @CrimeQueen Sorry I rushed off last night. Was the blond guy @Witness_Zero?
There’s still no reply. She was online two minutes ago, and she’s read the message. It seems she’s ignoring me.
I tap my fingers against the keyboard. Think about how to find out more about Zara Bretton, but it’s no use, I can’t concentrate. Opening a new chat window, I type a message.
The Watcher to @JusticeLeague Who was that blond guy last night?
Justice League is online. She reads the message immediately and three dots appear as she types her reply.
Justice League to @TheWat
cher It was @Witness_Zero. Hot wasn’t he?!
The Watcher to @JusticeLeague Is he friends with @CrimeQueen and @DeathStalker? When I left they were huddled together in the main bar. I messaged CQ earlier asking about him – she’s read the message but not replied
Justice League to @TheWatcher Dunno re CQ/DS. Happy about WZ joining tho. Good to have something pretty to look at.
The Watcher to @JusticeLeague I guess. What’s the deal with Crime Queen – is she serious about this investigation do you think?
Justice League to @TheWatcher GA says CQ’s studying forensic psychology – something about social impact of celebrity culture vs serial killers. So serious enough.
The Watcher to @JusticeLeague Useful. Thanks. Makes more sense that she’s part of the group now!
Justice League to @TheWatcher no problem
From what I observed last night, Death Stalker seems to have his favourites: Witness Zero and Crime Queen. I need to get closer to Death Stalker, become part of his inner circle or circumvent them entirely. To do that, I need to prove my worth. Complete my task. Build his trust in me, even if I don’t trust him back.
Switching screens, I read the list of possible Zara Brettons that my Facebook search has generated – thirty-seven in total. I peer at the thumbnail profile pictures; some are faces, some random objects. Scroll down.
Thirty-two is a match. This Zara Bretton has a photo as their profile picture and a lax approach to online security. The profile is public, so I can see all their information, friends and photos; all their status updates. The twenty-first-birthday photograph used in the newspaper articles is there, along with more from that night and similar pictures from other nights out.
I learn that Zara’s BFFs are Rach and Dan, that she likes clubbing and snowboarding and that she’s a fan of a TV bake-off show. Her relationship status tells me she’s not currently in a relationship. All these things make it appear as if she’s alive. The posts on her virtual wall are what destroys that illusion.
Rach Wesbel to Zara Bretton: Missing you babes. Every day. Love you xxxx
Lesley Pink to Zara Bretton: Tragic. So sad
Daniel Tyrone to Zara Bretton: Nothing’s the same without you. Love D xx
Anya Baskue to Zara Bretton: Taken too soon. RIP xxx
I wonder why these people feel the need to post these public outpourings of grief. Does it help them get closure? Or is it driven by a need to be seen to be grieving? They look like they’re trying to out-grieve each other, prove they are the most affected, the most sorrowful. As if only those emotions shared online count for anything. It’s something I cannot understand. After all, it’s not as if the dead can browse the internet. I wonder why Zara’s family hasn’t removed the page.
She was popular, that’s for sure. I scroll through over a hundred messages before I get to the posts Zara herself made prior to her death. I speed-read them, searching for new information. I discover that she went speed dating three weeks before she was killed, but didn’t get the number of anyone she met – too old, too young, not fun enough – and that seven weeks before she died she’d started working at The Sandwich Shack near Camden Market. From her status updates it looks like she enjoyed the job.
In the feed there’s a video Zara posted the week before her death. The status beneath it is short, to the point: Gr8t Nite!!!!
I hover my mouse over the clip and it starts to play. I recognise the girls and guy from their profile pictures – Rach, Zara and Dan. They’re near Piccadilly Circus, by the fountain with the four rearing horses; giggling at the camera, arms round each other. Six seconds, and the clip is done.
I enlarge the video to full-screen and play it again. I listen to their laughter, see the happiness in Zara’s expression and the love between these three friends. I try to imagine what it must be like to feel that way about someone, to be as happy as Zara looks.
I do feel something, though; a quivering sensation in my chest, a tightness around my eyes. I click the video again. As it plays I feel my eyes tearing up and I wonder what the hell is happening to me. I have never met these people, and yet I think I am feeling something like sadness. It doesn’t make sense.
I close down the video. Push away the feeling. Continue reading until I’ve got through two more months of status updates, photos posted and videos shared, but find nothing else of interest. So I switch back to Zara’s profile and follow the link to her Pinterest page. I scroll through the images, reading the tags – hot guy, pretty updo, great shoes, straight teeth. There are a lot of images of smiles, all women’s faces, some with lipstick, some without. It seems rather random.
My eyes are dry, itchy. I rub them, but it doesn’t help. I need to get away from the screen. Cracking the window open to let in some air, I toggle back to True Crime London and the group page. It’s time to report back.
The Watcher My online search for Zara Bretton has shown she was single and worked at The Sandwich Shack in Camden Market. Her closest friends are Rach Wesbel (Crouch End) and Daniel Tyrone (Camden). She was a regular on the clubbing scene.
I add links to Zara’s Facebook and Pinterest accounts. Then I press return.
Ghost Avenger and 2 other people liked your post in Case Files: The Lover
Draining the last of my coffee, I’m thinking about getting a refill when Ghost Avenger posts the results of his task. As the pictures fill the screen it feels like déjà vu. I scroll through them, mesmerised again.
One – pastel-pink painted nails.
Two – an ear with two piercings in the lobe.
Three – mid-brown curled hair. Shoulder length.
The last is a full body shot: Kate Adams, lying on the metal gurney, a sheet covering her modesty. She looks just how Jenna Malik and Zara Bretton did in the pictures Ghost Avenger posted of them.
A ping alerts me to a new post.
Crime Queen Here are the links to Kate Adams’s Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr pages. They don’t tell us much.
I linger over Crime Queen’s dismissive reference to Kate’s social media pages. It feels like a dig at the links I posted to Zara’s profiles. I click each of the links in turn. Facebook and Twitter don’t reveal anything obvious, but on her Tumblr feed I notice a lot of pictures of smiles; just like Zara’s Pinterest page. I’m about to point this out when another post appears at the top of the feed.
Witness_Zero Good to meet some of you last night. I’ve completed my task. Talked to Steven Ravenscroft – he works in the Chick-o-Lick takeaway. He thinks he saw a dark-haired man enter Kate Adams’s building around ten o’clock the night she died. He hasn’t talked to the police (he’s got a bit of form, I think). Couldn’t give me a description of the man, so no further intel.
Justice League Do you think Steven would be willing to do an online eFit? I’ve got a link to an app that’s similar to the police one (part of my uni course). We could use it …
Witness_Zero I can ask him @JusticeLeague. DMing you now.
I exhale hard. Sit back in my chair and twist my butterfly ring around my finger. Steven Ravenscroft’s sighting doesn’t fit with the timing of the hooded man Kate Adams’s neighbour saw entering the flat. Now Witness Zero is talking direct to Justice League, she is getting drawn closer to the inner circle and I am not.
This I do not like.
37
DOM
In interview room four, Patrick Bartlett is crying.
Dom’s only asked him one question, but it set him off. He hasn’t answered, though. Dom knows he’s going to have to ask again. ‘Mr Bartlett, Patrick, how did you know Kate Adams?’
Bartlett wipes his face with his hands, sniffs loudly. Dom passes him a tissue.
When he speaks, Barlett’s voice is wobbly with nerves. ‘We met at work. We started the same day, but were on opposite sides – I’m a Nine and she was a One.’ He looks like he’s about to cry again. ‘We used to say we were like Romeo and Juliet.’
‘So you had a romantic relationship?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Which is it?’
Bartlett sniffs into his tissue. Balls it into his fist. ‘I wanted to, but she had a boyfriend. They were having a few problems – money stuff, the usual crap – and we talked on our breaks. She often got upset. It didn’t feel like the right time, but I hoped we might …’
Dom doesn’t think Bartlett killed Kate. They’ll need to check out his alibi for the murder, and for Jenna’s and Zara’s, but this bloke doesn’t look like he’s got a violent bone in his body. ‘You hoped if her and the boyfriend ended you’d be able to pick up the pieces?’
‘Something like that,’ says Bartlett, starting to sob. ‘Not going to happen now, though, is it?’
An hour later Dom’s standing in front of the murder board, wondering what the fuck to do next. He’s added Patrick Bartlett and connected him to Kate Adams. Another lead, but not one he thinks will go anywhere.
He looks at the other Persons of Interest. From the CCTV there’s still no identification of POI 1 – the man in the hoodie on the Chick-O-Lick camera. Next along the board is POI 2 – Jon Leighton. Dom puts a cross through his picture; Parekh chased down his alibis and they all check out. Leighton himself is a dead end, but he did eventually pick out two men from the Wetherspoons CCTV.
Their two pictures are stuck on the board alongside Leighton. Dom peers closer at them. One is staff member Enzo Metiz. Parekh’s putting the other through the database, searching for a match. They’re new leads, but Dom isn’t hopeful. Neither of these men look right to him. Their body shapes don’t match the man outside Kate’s flat, and that’s all they’ve got to go on at the moment.
The unreliability of eye witness descriptions are well known – they often identify people they’ve seen, but not always the person who did the crime. Wrong person, right place is a common problem. Given how much Leighton had been drinking and the sheer volume of people in the pub that night, Dom won’t be surprised if that’s what’s happened here.
‘Guv?’
My Little Eye Page 20