by Heleen Kist
It was too much to gather manually. I opened the browser window and loaded Github. Thank God for this code-sharing site. It was bound to have what I needed. I rummaged through the building blocks developed by other data scientists. Nobody I knew ever started from scratch anymore, when so much code was available, free to use.
I checked the many entries for scrapers. I dismissed the majority of the programmes, which seemed tailored to help people fetch the various prices for a product from different retail sites. One entry seemed closer to what I needed: a script to fetch strings of text of a particular shape. But it wasn’t quite right for letting loose on Twitter, with its vastness and unique structure. I thought of how I could configure the code to get me what I wanted. I sighed. There was a risk I would still end up with an immense amount of data because I would hoover up anything even remotely connected to the profiles identified. It would be a lot easier if I could enter from the most relevant point: Emily’s account.
I was confident that if I set my mind to it, I would be able to hack Emily’s password, but I realised there might be an easier way.
I reached for my phone.
Claire picked up on the second ring.
‘It’s Laura Flett.’
‘Have you got news on the acquisition?’
‘No, that’s not why I am calling.’ My pulse quickened. I adopted a casual sing-songy voice. ‘I was wondering what happened to Emily’s laptop. The police had a look at it, but I think it’s been returned to the company?’
‘Why would you want her laptop? If there are files you’re after, I have access now. If you let me know what you’re looking for—’
I didn’t have a ready excuse; the truth would have to do. I plucked up the courage for the strange request.
‘I want to be able to access her social media without her password. I’m looking into the harassment.’
‘For the police? They asked you to do this?’
I hesitated. ‘I’m seeing if I can give them more information,’ I hoped I sounded natural. It wasn’t a lie, and if my wording made Claire believe it was for the police, what harm was there?
‘I don’t know, Laura. Aside from the fact that I don’t know where the laptop is, I’m not sure this is appropriate.’
She had a point, of course. You couldn’t just access someone’s social media just because they were dead any more than it would be appropriate to read their diary. Social media platforms would shut accounts down on proof of death but would only give someone else access if there was evidence of a living will; if in life you had appointed someone you wanted to give access to once you’d passed.
While I was trying to come up with some convincing reasoning, Claire said, ‘Let me ask you this... Can you get into Emily’s flat?’
Why did Emily’s flat matter? Could Claire know where Emily had written down her passwords?
‘Yes, I have the keys. Why?’
Claire’s voice went to a whisper. ‘I need to find some papers which I think are at her place. If you meet me there, I’ll try to get my hands on her computer. Deal?’
The trade-off seemed fair.
‘Deal.’
After hanging up, I went to the toilet and fed Atticus in preparation for a long night of coding.
16
NOW SUKI
The Madainn office was at Rutland Square, tucked away behind the busy intersection of Princes Street and Lothian Road. It was one of the many discrete pockets of wealth management in the city; understated Georgian architecture reassuring the old money it was safe while giving the new money the opportunity to feel part of the institution. To have arrived.
After the walk from home that morning, Suki’s feet were killing her. Her heels didn’t suffer the cobbled street of Edinburgh well, but she was damned if she was going to be treated like a short arse. Besides, her Louboutins had become her trademark. She thought of the other pair she’d been seduced by — crocodile, with thin ankle straps — but her bank balance didn’t allow it. Not yet.
Her pointy heels sank into the plush yellow carpet of the corridor to Angus’s office. She could sense his insincerity leaking through the ornate mahogany door; the brass knob’s ridged motif smoothed by a hundred years of clammy hands. Why had he summoned her for a progress report? She knocked.
Diane, the firm’s other partner, sat in one of two armchairs opposite Angus’s large desk. With all the other projects Suki had worked on, she’d only ever dealt with one partner, but Empisoft was a biggie.
And it was hers.
‘Come sit, Suki.’ Diane patted the back of the empty chair, her diamond solitaire casting bright rainbows on the walls.
Angus sat at his desk, positioned so as to be regally framed by a tall window with blue velvet curtains. By Suki’s side stood a bar, a stand supporting a nineteenth century-style globe that opened to reveal three bottles of whisky and a set of tumblers. Suki didn’t know if he used it often — perhaps only with clients — though a faint peaty scent always hung in the air. Angus’s porous nose and surrounding ruddy complexion alluded more to lunchtime port than to whisky.
‘Diane and I were looking at this month’s numbers and wanted to get an update on the PeopleForce deal,’ Angus said. Sweat glistened on his forehead.
Always about money. Corporate finance was a funny business, with lumpy, unpredictable revenues. There could be months without sufficient fees coming in to cover the exorbitant overheads of a fancy office and the staff of twelve. Summer was invariably tricky. If you hadn’t completed the deal by the end of June, chances were it would drag on well into September by the time all the players had returned from their holidays. December on the other hand, usually provided a giant kick up the arse — with the financial windfall to match. Everybody was incentivised to put in the hours night and day to avoid working over Christmas. It also marked the end of the tax year for foreign investors, so there was no option but to get it done.
Suki didn’t need the notes she’d brought. She was fully in control. ‘The amended Heads of Terms have been verbally approved by both parties,’ she said. ‘PeopleForce’s lawyers are looking through the files we’ve uploaded into the data room holding the details of the previous investment rounds. There are a few pieces missing, nothing major.’
‘Are we still looking at early September?’ asked Diane.
‘Justin is keen to be able to announce the deal at the conference,’ Suki replied. ‘PeopleForce’s CEO has been lined up to fly over for the event. I think they want to get as much PR out of this as they can.’
‘Yes, we know,’ said Angus. His brown eyes bored into her. ‘The reason we’re getting a little nervous is that there’s not much time left. We should be past the due diligence by now. What’s the hold-up?’
What’s with the questions? The partners’ conspiratorial glances suggested they knew something that she didn’t. ‘The main thing that’s been delayed is the details about the R&D projects. We’d given them some info early on. With the latest write-ups, they’re getting a better look at it. If anything, the product pipeline still looks as if it has the potential to increase the company’s valuation.’
Suki straightened her shoulders. It was important to remain confident and bullish at all times. Doubt was for the weak. And once you’re weak, you’re dinner.
‘Smashing,’ said Angus. ‘However, if we’re going to change the terms of the deal, we’ll have to act quickly. Has this all been documented?’
‘It’s in hand. Kind of. The R&D lead, Laura Flett has had... let’s call it a personal crisis.’
Diane threw her arms in the air. ‘Great timing.’
Suki squirmed. Nice empathy there. Although empathy was not what financiers were known for.
Never missing a chance to take the bull by the horns, Suki asked, ‘Is there anything else going on here? In my mind, everything is under control.’
Angus wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and folded the fabric into small squares. ‘Diane has told me about a conversation sh
e overheard in London, in the lounge of the Institute of Directors on Pall Mall. Some Americans talking too loudly. Damn fools. Apparently PeopleForce have also been courting Yellowsoft.’
Suki took a breath. This was bad news. If PeopleForce’s lot were also talking to Empisoft’s biggest competitor, this could mean she was being played. She’d have to up her game.
‘Do we know how far along they are?’ Suki asked, ready to talk war tactics.
‘No,’ said Angus. ‘It may be that they’re only plan B. It’s essential that we get there first. I don’t need to remind you that this is a hugely valuable deal for us. The price stands at $100 million. These are not the kinds of valuations we see every day in Scotland.’
‘Our fee could keep us going for two whole years, after our bonuses.’ Diane drew a circle with a finger between the three of them.
Suki didn’t need reminding of the bonuses. This was the first deal in which she would get a share of the pot. She was the first senior associate to ever get a percentage of a fee. But she was the one who’d introduced the firm to some of the bigger players in Silicon Valley, including PeopleForce. It was her network, carefully cultivated during her MBA that persuaded the suitors to come in with the bids they got. With a one-hundred-million-dollar deal, Suki would take home two hundred grand — over one hundred and sixty thousand pounds in real money. And for every thousand more, she would get ten percent of the firm’s commission.
Well, if those fuckers in San Francisco thought they could get one over on her, they had another think coming.
‘I’m on it. I’ll do everything I need to get this over the line. I’ll sit on Laura’s desk if I have to.’
Diane patted her knee. ‘Good girl.’
‘Apparently we’re meant to call you “women” now,’ Angus said, no doubt referring to Justin’s rebuke.
Diane threw her arms to the heavens once more. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’
17
ME
The key ring lay on the café table, its metal cat winking as sunshine flickered past. I kept a firm watch on the main door to Emily’s tenement across the street. I hadn’t wanted to wait for Claire inside; it was too painful.
A dried tear track tickled my cheek. I sipped at my tea.
I started to worry I’d gotten the time wrong. The clock and my watch both showed 8:10. We’d agreed to meet before work — hardly my favourite time of day. But today was always going to be horrible.
Finally, I caught a glimpse of Claire from behind, looking up at Emily’s first-floor window. I sprung from my seat and sprinted across the road. ‘I’m here.’
‘Hi, Laura. Are you ready for this?’
I shrugged. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. Emily’s parents asked me to go in and pick anything, any mementos that I might want to keep before they send some packers in. I haven’t had the courage. Maybe having you here will make it easier.’
A look of panic crossed Claire’s face. ‘I haven’t got much time. I’m only here for the papers.’
I stepped forward and inserted the key in the door. ‘It’s fine. I just meant, you know, not being alone going in.’
Claire placed her hand on my shoulder. ‘Okay.’ I twitched.
We climbed the stairs in silence, my heart speeding up with every step.
When I opened the flat door, we were met with the stale smell of neglect. Claire hesitated before following me in. I cracked open a window.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ she said.
‘It didn’t use to be like this.’
Claire scanned the room. ‘I can imagine. I know she’d been holed up here for some time before...’
‘I did visit. I visited a few times. I never thought she would do what she did.’
I didn’t know why I needed to justify myself; Claire was only here for some files. Had she even been friends with Emily? I stroked the ribbed top of the sofa, dents marking where our heads had jerked back in laughter so many times.
‘I’ll have a look around in between the papers, shall I?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ I said. Not that it was my job to give permission.
The rottenest stench drew me to the kitchen.
Jesus, what a state. I’d swear Emily had been hoarding ready-meal packaging. I followed my nose to the sink, where green rolling mounds of mould covered decomposing teabags and breakfast oats. I looked in the lower cabinet for rubber gloves and fetched the grey compost bin. I scooped the putrid pile out, holding my breath. A splash of cold water took care of the rest.
How did it get so bad so quickly?
I felt compelled to restore order, as if undoing the decay might reverse time and bring Emily back. I gathered the empty plastic tubs and opened the tall stainless-steel bin. A purple dildo stared at me with a bulbous eye.
A hot flush coursed through my chest and up my cheeks. This wasn’t the sort of thing friends should see. Why would she...? When she was planning...?
Claire appeared out of nowhere. ‘I’ve got the files.’
I let go of the bin’s lid. It snapped shut with a clang, making me jump.
‘Are you okay?’ She frowned. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ She raised her hand to her mouth, eyebrows arched. ‘God, sorry, I mean... is everything okay?’
‘Yes, it’s nothing... There was a dead mouse in the bin.’
‘Ew. Lemme see.’
Before I could stop her, Claire lifted the lid. ‘Oh...’
‘Please leave it,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we should—’
‘Why are there two?’
‘Two?’
Claire took a fork from the worktop and pushed the purple dildo aside to reveal the tip of a pink one lower down. ‘I’m all for a girl’s best friend, but two? And why would Emily throw them away?’
‘I don’t think we should—’
She kept poking at the thing with that fork. ‘It’s light. Like there’s no batteries inside,’ she said. ‘And they look brand new.’
I desperately tried to blank the idea of what a not-so-new sex toy would look like. None of this made sense. I needed it to make sense. ‘Emily was fanatical about recycling. She would have removed them.’ I cringed. ‘Please, leave it alone.’
Claire stepped back. ‘Okay. Speaking of recycling, shall I throw away the magazines?’ She gestured to the living room.
‘Yes, thanks, the blue box is over there.’
I distracted myself by emptying the fridge, and burying my shocking find with whatever rubbish lay about. Sod the environment.
‘Hey Laura, check this out.’ Claire stood over the blue recycling bin that held a neat row of flattened cardboard.
‘What is it?’
She fished a box out and held it up so that I could see the writing on it. The Bitch. ‘I think some asshole sent her a gift.’ She nodded towards the bin.
My stomach churned. ‘You mean the...?’ How could the police have missed this? Reddy said they’d visited... Did they not do a full search? His voice echoed in my head: ‘too late’ ... ‘no complaint’ ... ‘no resources.’
‘There’s no address or anything,’ Claire said. ‘It’s a recycled Amazon box. There’s a torn-off barcode. My sense is this was hand-delivered.’
My heart raced. ‘We have to tell the police. How could they have missed that?’ I remembered Reddy’s ‘nothing we wouldn’t expect to find in the apartment of a single woman.’ I felt ashamed for Emily. The assumptions they obviously made...
Claire handed me the box. ‘I agree. If that bastard made it to her flat, they might be able to find him.’ She placed a hand on the worktop and sighed. She peeked into the chaotic living area. ‘Poor Emily, having her name and address on the Internet like that. I can see why she felt vulnerable, desperate. And then this... I wish she’d realised it would never last. This would have blown over in time.’ She turned away. ‘These things always do.’
‘It didn’t sound like a flash-in-the-pan kind of thing when I last looked online.’ I said, then re
membered why she was here. ‘Did you bring the laptop?’
‘No, the IT guy said the police still had it. Something about forty-two days? I thought you would’ve known that.’ My stomach fell. ‘But I got you the next best thing,’ she said.
Claire walked towards the chair that held her bag. ‘It’s lucky the chap has a crush on me — he wouldn’t stop talking. He said that once she’d been identified, Emily received lots of emails. Really, really disgusting ones. She’d gone to him and he set up a filter, so the emails got blocked. They were purged every day, meaning the only thing he’d been able to give the police was the last day’s worth. He said he doubted they’d make any sense of it because he’d had a nosey himself and the email addresses were all untraceable. Gmails and suchlike.’ She pulled an iPad from her bag. ‘Ta da! Emily had brought it for repair weeks ago. It was only when I spoke to him that he remembered he had it waiting for her.’ She handed it to me. ‘No one can find out, okay?’
I stuck the device under my arm. ‘Is there a screen lock?’
‘No, I asked him to take it off. He wasn’t happy. He’s worried he’ll get caught. He’s already had the boss on his case because the company’s website crashed after people started attacking it. It was down for two days. I managed to calm him down. Convinced him it would help Emily. I think he liked her, too.’
‘Why did they attack the website?’
‘Who knows,’ she shrugged. ‘I guess they wanted to attack Emily any way they could think of. Darren was furious, spitting that it made the agency look like amateurs.’ Claire shook her head. ‘Anyway, I promised to return it in three days. Okay? Though it doesn’t sound like you’ll find much.’
I clutched the iPad to my chest. The police may not have found anything, but they didn’t have my skills, my determination. I would find the harassers. I would find the trolls responsible for Emily’s death. She deserved that much at least.
18
