Cut to the Bone (25 page)

Zain rubbed his face with his hands, breathed out.

‘It was him, Barry. Fucking ridiculous name, stupid man. He just reminded me of something. And he was driving me mad. Him and Dan and all of it.’

‘What did he remind you of?’

‘It was the khat. The stuff he was chewing. When I was . . . taken . . . when they held me, one of the men was Somali. He kept chewing khat all the time. It’s like they say, when you lose one sense others compensate? They had me blindfolded, so I could smell that rotten stuff.’

‘And you are going to racially profile the entire British Somali community forever because of it?’

Zain didn’t seem to hear her, he was so engrossed in telling his story.

‘The khat guy, I never knew his name then. Afterwards I did. And he kept saying, ‘Call me Bob.’ Jihadi Bob. I laughed the first time he said it. That got me a punch that nearly broke my nose. And his real name . . . well it doesn’t matter. Only he was the one that tortured me.’

Kate held her own breath as Zain’s became more laboured. He was sweating at the temples, and his voice was thick with emotion.

‘And he would spit. Right before he pulled out my toenails. He would spit that stuff into my face. And the first time I didn’t know, he just spat, and then fuck . . . I blacked out. And the second time, he spat in my face, and I knew what was coming. And I screamed. From the moment he spat, to the moment I fainted from the pain, I screamed like a fucking coward. And the third time, he came towards me, and I could smell the khat. And I started screaming even before he spat. Each time I blacked out from the pain, and I cried out, begging them to stop. I am so ashamed of myself. I gave them what they wanted. Only, when they got to the seventh time . . . I didn’t black out. I was awake all through that pain.’

‘I can’t imagine how that must feel,’ said Kate. She heard a slight tremor in her voice.

‘You know how I remember all that? Because the bastards filmed it. Every fucking painful second. They filmed it and they laughed. They were going to post it online. They couldn’t get a signal in that container or they would have done. And I got hold of the videos. Afterwards, I mean. And I saw them . . .’

‘You shouldn’t have watched them,’ she said. It was a whisper almost. She reached out and touched the back of his hand.

‘I’m sorry. It was all I knew to do in that moment, she said.’

Kate let silence mark time as she thought about what to do next.

Harris was good. He had shown flashes of his brilliance already. The technical assistance he had given the team, the support he had provided to her. Even Hope was encouraging about him. And against that, he was obviously still damaged from his experiences. He had acted out, done something she had been tempted to do many times. Only she was clear about boundaries. She knew what happened when men stepped over them.

And then another thought. She now had leverage over Harris. Something that potentially ensured she could trust him. She would write up the incident, officially, on an EIR2 form, and keep it filed.

If she ever needed it, she would use it. Compassion would be given the upper hand, for now at least.

‘Let’s go back to Regus House,’ Kate said. ‘This isn’t over. Only, your mental health is low on my list today. We’re running late to meet Dr Sandler, the cyber psychologist. If Dan isn’t behind Ruby’s disappearance and murder, we need to find out who is. Before we end up with another dead body.’

Chapter Seventy-two

Dr Eric Sandler was in his mid-thirties, attractive in a preppy way, Kate thought. He was wearing chinos with a blazer and pastel-coloured polo shirt, his hair long and dark blond. He worked for Cambridge University as a forensic cyber psychologist, a new but booming field.

DS Harris was in the conference room with them. Zain was much calmer, having cooled off. This meeting would be a way to try and salvage their working relationship. She needed to solve this case; she needed his expertise. Reprimanding him could take place another day.

Kate had a sudden recall to how he had tasted, the smell of him on the hotel sheets in the morning. Again, she felt shame burn inside her. What was she thinking? Imagine if she had gone through with it, and there was an official investigation into how he had treated Barry?

‘So it’s Locard’s principle?’ she said instead to Eric, sipping at a black coffee. Both men were drinking water, she noticed. ‘The forensic principle that every contact leaves a trace?’

‘Yes. It’s the same with online crime scenes. Every interaction online, no matter how innocuous, or forgotten, leaves a trace. I have a paper I can send you if you are interested. It was something I published last year.’

‘Great,’ muttered Zain.

‘That would be useful,’ she said.

On the scant details Kate had sent Eric, he had managed to come up with an analysis for her.

‘The psychology of Ruby’s viewers is simple enough. Teenagers looking to be part of something, needing friends and validation. People like Ruby offer them both, someone to call on when in need. The videos are intimate, Ruby is speaking to them alone, she is their friend, they matter to her. The psychology of online creatives themselves is complex, though. Their motivations, goals, ambitions, are as individual as they are.’

‘What do you think of Ruby’s motivations?’ said Zain.

‘Calculating by your information about her present age, I guess she was around fourteen or fifteen when she started going online. At that age, her primary focus would have been to form peer-to-peer relationships. SNS are used by adolescents for forming friendships.’

‘SNS?’ said Kate.

‘Social networking sites,’ said Zain.

‘Precisely,’ said Eric. ‘Facebook, mainly, but a whole host of others now exist in its shadow.’

‘What about real-world friendships?’ asked Kate.

‘SNS allow young people to cement those relationships, and to widen their circles. The downside is that young people are so desperate to make these bonds, they open themselves up to risk. Adolescents and young adults are more likely to add strangers who request to be their friends, for example.’

‘Ruby was deliberately looking for a wide audience; it was a business for her,’ said Kate.

‘The dichotomy between public and private is blurred online. In real life, you can choose who to have in your personal space, say your bedroom . . .’

Zain choked on his water, causing Kate to feel embarrassed heat in her face.

‘Sorry,’ he said, not looking at her.

‘And you choose who to have in your public space, or at least you are aware of it more,’ said Eric.

‘Online you can’t make that distinction?’ said Kate, trying to ignore Zain’s outburst earlier.

‘Ruby seems to have been typical of her generation. Her tweets sometimes say very personal stuff, deep emotional thoughts. Other times they are aimed at her audience. For some reason, people think the tone of their tweets or online comments is enough to differentiate between public and private. Ruby was the same.’

‘So potentially she was tweeting personal messages into a public arena?’

‘Exactly. SNS are great – hey, I make my living from them – but they have a lot of downsides. They cause depression, especially in young people, who think they should have more friends if peers have more Facebook friends, or Twitter followers. They feel inadequate if peers are posting messages about all the fun they’re having; they feel left out, less interesting. Adults feel that way when friends post about how many kids they have, or how well they’re doing at work. Nearly forty per cent of girls have a blog or a vlog, and fashion, beauty and lifestyle are the most popular topics. Ruby took a private activity and became part of a public network.’

‘It just doesn’t fit with what we know about her,’ said Zain. ‘Her parents say she’s introverted, nervous, quite sheltered. And then there she is, making a splash, posting her videos all the time. I don’t get it.’

‘It is confusing for many,’ said Eric. ‘In my experience, though, individuals that focus so much on their online persona . . . well, they struggle with reality. They are usually trying to get away from something. In our day, we would sit in a room, blast music, isolate ourselves, scribble in our diaries. Ruby and her generation don’t have to skulk. Cyberbullying may be an issue, but the freedom to connect online is revolutionary, too.’

‘So Ruby may have been lonely, isolated, possibly bullied?’ said Zain.

‘It’s only conjecture, but that might have been the cause of her isolation.’

‘Her ex-boyfriend told me she was bullied at school,’ said Kate. She made a mental note to follow up on these thoughts with Ruby’s parents. So far, they had closed off at any suggestion that Ruby might be unhappy. ‘Somebody like that, she might be susceptible? If a skilled person knew what they were doing?’

‘Yes. Ruby left a trace every time she posted online. Somebody could follow that, like a trail, and know everything about her. Details she probably didn’t think important, probably couldn’t recall, somebody could read them and make sense of them.’

‘Interpretation of a young woman,’ whispered Kate.

‘What’s that?’ said Zain.

‘A theory I came across,’ she said. She didn’t say it was from her own PhD. ‘The interpretation of an object by a psychopath.’

‘I think that’s very possible,’ said Eric. ‘Even likely. For example, you talked about MINDNET, the company she was affiliated with . . . Is someone out there thinking she sold out? You mentioned her boyfriend . . . Is someone feeling betrayed because they want Ruby for themselves? What about the products she used? Is someone watching her, and has Ruby used something they object to? Animal rights groups? The diet industry is worth billions; Ruby regularly criticised them. Are they protecting their interests? Or is it envy? Somebody whose own life isn’t going the way it should, resentful for what they perceive to be Ruby’s perfect life. And it does look perfect. When all you see is a random sequence of fifteen-minute video clips, YouTubers and vloggers can create a high level of perfection. It’s the best form of air-brushing around.’

‘You’re frying my brain, doctor,’ said Zain.

‘Ruby online is key to this, that much I am sure of. The videos were posted online, posted into her public and private sphere. It means something.’

‘What exactly, though? That’s what I’m struggling with,’ said Kate.

‘I’m here to advise; I leave the dot joining to the professionals,’ he said. ‘And if someone else, like you said, is in imminent danger, then you need to join those dots quickly, detective.’

‘What did you make of the message at the end of the last video? “You’re next”,’ said Kate.

‘It’s personal. If whoever posted that video wanted us all to watch, they would say something like, who’s next, or watch this space. They didn’t, though. Somebody watching that video was being targeted. The killer sent out a clear message.’

‘And yet no one has contacted us, scared for their life.’

‘They might not have worked it out yet. It’s not a generalised threat though, that I am sure of. It’s directed to someone in particular.’

Kate dreaded that call; a new video has been uploaded, someone else is dead.

‘Alternatively, and this is just free, out-of-the-box thinking; it could be a diversion. The killer might be frightened – maybe you got close, without realising it? They are distracting you, making you look over your shoulder for a second attack.’

‘Messing with the cops,’ said Kate. ‘Hardly atypical.’

Chapter Seventy-three

Susan was waiting for him. The warning signs were clear as soon as he walked into the house. He dropped his car keys into the glass bowl on the cabinet by the front door. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, ready for a fight.

The air was thick with wood polish, bleach and, above it all, the unmistakable aroma of red wine. It was what she did. Drank, cleaned and then argued.

She was wiping the walls when he went into the TV room. One wall was covered with a projector screen, his home movie experience. A repeat of
Come Dine with Me
was playing, muted. The faces on screen screaming laughter with mouths wide open, then bitching about the food when alone in the host’s bedroom.

‘Where were you?’ Susan said, not missing a single scrub on the magnolia wall. She was a suburban Mr Miyagi, he often joked. There was no break for humour tonight, though.

‘The office. Lots going on. Dan’s been released; I had to sort it out.’

He put his jacket on the arm of a sofa, went to the drinks cabinet. He caught his reflection in the shine on the wood. He poured himself a whisky, spilling a bit on purpose.

‘They let him out?’

‘He’s innocent. Was holed up with his drug dealer pal during the crucial time frame. Silly arse.’

‘Why did he call you? Don’t Byrne and his lot have any decent lawyers?’

‘He trusts me. Old time’s sake I suppose.’

‘You just can’t let them go, can you?’ she said. There was accusation there, but also chastisement. ‘And Ruby?’

‘Still not found her,’ he said, sitting down and taking his phone out. ‘Dan’s trending on Twitter. Hashtag DanIsOurHero, DanIsFree. DanILoveYou. Crazy idiots. If only they knew.’

‘Yes, well, he’s not the only one. A lot of people have a lot to hide,’ she said.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I think you know.’

‘Come on, baby, let’s just relax,’ he said.

The cloth whacked him on the head. Unexpected, hard, on target. His glass flew from his hands, landing with a quiet thud on the furry white rug at his feet. The golden-brown liquid seeped into the layers of cotton.

‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said.

‘I wasn’t. Do we have to fight? I’m tired.’

‘Tired chasing her. Always her. You know, when she signed up with MINDNET, I was so fucking delirious with happiness. I thought that’s it, it’s over, she’s away from you. I don’t have to compete with her anymore. Ever since you met her, you’ve been obsessed with her. Even after she dumped you, because that’s exactly what she did, you just couldn’t leave her be, could you? Getting involved with Dan again, keeping your grubby fingers on Ruby. But she didn’t want you, did she? She’s nearly young enough to be your daughter, for fuck’s sake.’