The Twisted Web (Detective Hannah Robbins Crime Series book 4)

by Rebecca Bradley

  ‘Tell me more about this date.’ I pushed.

  ‘What was it you came in here for?’

  ‘Information on your date, obviously.’ I laughed at her. We were both hopeless when it came to our love lives. In different ways. Evie was afraid to get close and always backed away after she had been with a man for a while.

  ‘If you don’t need to see that, I’ll have it back.’ She made a move for her phone.

  I tightened my grip on it. ‘Let me just have a look.’ I started to read through her feed.

  ‘I thought you came in here about blogs?’ she asked.

  There was still a lot of chatter about Sebastian and the crime scene from yesterday. Today the focus was on the connection to him being a true-crime blogger.

  ‘I did, but it’s kind of connected,’ I answered as I read outlandish theories about why he might have been killed the way he had been.

  ‘You’re investigating that blogger?’

  I handed her the phone. ‘Yeah and I want you on the team for this.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll make sure I’m at the briefing. What do you need from me?’

  I nodded towards the phone. ‘People talk about real stuff like this murder in such ridiculous ways just because they can and because they have the space?’ I asked instead.

  ‘What do you think he did?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your dead guy.’

  ‘Sebastian Wade?’

  ‘Yeah. He had a true-crime blog right. That’s what you wanted to know about. He will have blogged about crimes and he will have also given his opinions on them. Whether they were factually correct opinions or not.’

  This was fucked up.

  I nodded.

  ‘You want me to look at his blog and analyse his traffic?’

  ‘Yes. I want to know who didn’t like Sebastian Wade’s online opinions.’

  17.

  Drew didn’t usually have anything to get up for. Not since he’d lost his job and had to take on the role he was in now. It was demeaning.

  Tutor at an online university.

  Yes, he was still teaching. But he could do the hours he pleased. He could work in the nude if he wanted. Though only in his room because he wasn’t sure his housemate would appreciate it if he wandered around the house naked.

  He wasn’t teaching children. He wasn’t moulding the minds of the young and impressionable. He’d been cast aside, like yesterday’s news.

  He had been yesterday’s news, hadn’t he, and it had lasted a hell of a lot longer than yesterday. With the rise of the internet and citizen journalism, he blew out a breath in frustration at the phrase, stories that caught the public’s imagination could and would run and run. And those pushing to keep them alive had no regard for the person behind the story.

  He licked his lips. His mouth was dry and tasted like week old coffee and a cat’s litter tray.

  They didn’t have a cat and he didn’t drink coffee.

  Walking into the kitchen he saw through the window that his housemate’s car had gone from the drive. He’d left for work. To a day job with walls made of brick and mortar and real human people to interact with. Drew pulled a bottle of orange out the fridge, unscrewed the lid and gave it a sniff. Deciding it was still within consumable parameters he took a glass down from the cupboard and poured himself a drink.

  His day would consist of being alone, sitting at his computer, checking the forum where the students talked and asked questions and marking the last few assignments he had to do. There was also a webinar he was booked in for later in the evening. He’d actually have to get dressed for that. It was the closest he got to talking to people.

  And it was all because people decided they were the ones to select the facts and then be judge, jury and executioner.

  It was brutal.

  Now it was his turn.

  With his juice in hand he turned to the dining room where he’d set up the laptop. No need to close himself off in his room. There was no one here to disturb him, to see what he was doing.

  Bringing the computer to life he opened three windows. First Twitter, then his news site of preference, and then the Nottinghamshire police website.

  Time to see what had progressed overnight.

  He was thrilled to see the murder was still high in the listing for the news website. They were leading with the unusual fact that the victim had been a true-crime blogger and the crime scene had been set up like, well, like a crime scene.

  He had to laugh. It had been ingenious really.

  The reason he liked this news site was because they tended to report the news quite impassively, leading with the information they knew rather than opining on it.

  There were plenty of other news outlets he could obtain a warped version of world events, depending on the political leanings of said outlet. Opinions were ten a penny.

  Reading the news with an opinion attached wasn’t news in his eyes. News was information. People were easily swayed and if you were told how to feel about the latest NHS crisis over your cornflakes then it wasn’t news it was an op-ed. And once you spoon fed the public with what they should be thinking they ran with it. In full technicolour. Berating anyone who held a differing point of view.

  Watching these flare-ups used to amuse him. Not since he had been the target of a social media pack mentality attack. Not since that day on the street with the chalk artist.

  The day that had changed his life.

  He switched to Twitter.

  This was the place that would decide if his actions had accomplished what he had set out to do.

  To hold a mirror up to their ugly hate-filled face.

  To show them the grotesqueness of their mutual actions.

  He clicked onto the trending icon.

  Amongst the trending topics was True-crime blogger and Nottingham.

  He smiled.

  They were still talking about what he’d done. This was a good start. Maybe he had shown them.

  Maybe they were horrified and were considering what social media was.

  Maybe this was a tipping point for them.

  Clicking on True-crime blogger the screen filled with all tweets that contained those words. Tweets discussing the man the police had found the previous day. The man Drew had left for them. The trending topics started initially with the top tweets. The ones that were most popular, that had been shared or liked the most.

  True-crime blogger found in his own crime scene.

  True-crime for true-crime blogger, maybe we need a true detective?

  The glass of orange juice whipped off the table with a sudden ferocity as Drew’s arm sliced across the table and knocked it flying. The amber liquid splashed down onto the wooden floor before the glass hit it and splintered with a loud smash. His anger flaring at the comments he was reading, Drew barely noticed the damage on the floor.

  Where was the introspection? How could they not see this was aimed at them? That their online life had turned into a nasty reality and one that they controlled and it would only stop if they stopped. If they reflected on their own behaviour instead of the behaviour of others. They had caused this and they were the masters of what was about to happen next.

  The fury raged inside of him like a white hot ball in the pit of his stomach that wanted to consume him and the only way to stop it was to find peace. But this wasn’t peaceful. Here they were basking, in how sick they thought it that the man had been left in such a way. No matter how sick, it didn’t stop them soaking in it. Covering themselves in it. Making sure they were a part of what was happening. Even if they were in no way involved and never would be.

  But, he was.

  He controlled this.

  He controlled this narrative.

  This time.

  A quick stop at the Nottinghamshire police website revealed little. A brief statement that they were investigating the death of a male found on Market Square and anyone with information needed to come forward.

  He would come for
ward all right.

  Just not in the way they wanted him to.

  18.

  Aaron poured the boiling water into a mug and squeezed half a lemon in. Fresh droplets hung in the air as he squeezed, light and clean and tangy. Lisa had decided it was what he needed to drink first thing in a morning; she said it was good for his health. He had done the research but couldn’t find anything to back it up, but he went along with her anyway because he actually liked the flavour. She had been obsessive since his heart attack and ruled the kitchen but had worked with him to figure out what he was willing to eat and drink. Knowing that he liked a menu routine she read all the literature and talked with him, then meticulously listed his meals for the days of the week. Meals he could eat if he was in the house or, when he returned to work, easily pack into a plastic tub and take it with him. She wasn’t going to let him slide just because his return was on the horizon.

  She had also changed her own diet and those of the children, in an effort not to isolate him.

  Not that he would care. He was more than happy to do what he needed to do, regardless of what others needed.

  Lisa loved him and his heart attack had scared her. That had been one of the things that had amazed him out of all this. The utter love that had shone out of her. Not that it hadn’t before. She had always been good to him. This, it had been on another level. Like she had genuinely thought he was going to die.

  But he hadn’t. He was here, wasn’t he?

  Lisa came up behind him. Told him she was there and leaned into his shoulder and whispered into his ear, ‘Do you have one of those for me?’

  He could smell her familiar perfume. The one she had been wearing when they met and he had liked and bought her every Christmas since.

  He pulled another mug down from the cupboard and filled it with water. Squeezed the other half of lemon into the water, turned and looked into the eyes of his wife.

  She gave a slow smile. Took the mug out of his hands. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I feel okay. I tell you that every day.’

  ‘You have an appointment with occupational health this afternoon.’

  He did.

  Lisa sipped at her drink.

  Aaron turned his back to his wife and picked up his mug.

  ‘Are you confident about the appointment today?’ she asked.

  He could hear two sets of music coming from two different bedrooms as both kids got themselves organised to leave for school. It was always the same, every morning. He hadn’t usually been here to see it – having already left for work, but since his enforced leave he had found out what his family’s routine was. And noise, it appeared, was a part of the morning as much as it was in the evening and he hated it. It would be bad enough if there was one noise heard coming from upstairs, but two competing against each other made his skin crawl. He’d had to use his own earphones as he adjusted to morning life in his own house.

  Lisa pulled on his arm and turned him back to face her. ‘Well?’

  ‘The doctor said I’m fit to return to work, so yes, I’m confident in the appointment. There’s no reason for me not to be,’ he replied.

  She reached behind him and placed her mug on the counter-top. Let her hand linger behind him, dropping to his hip. ‘How do you feel about returning to work, honey? It’s been a difficult few weeks.’

  He closed his eyes. It had been difficult for her. He knew that. She had told him that much. She had been scared. Scared of losing him.

  He opened his eyes. Looked at her.

  He hadn’t been afraid. He had listened to the doctors. Understood what they told him. Believed what they said. That the heart attack was caused by a blockage and not stress and that so long as he continued to take his medications and follow a balanced diet and kept physically active he should be okay.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m ready to go back,’ he told her. And he was. He loved his family and having a routine set up from the hospital had helped him adapt. He needed the familiarity of work. Of the office. Of getting up in a morning, getting showered and leaving for work.

  Lisa put a palm on his cheek. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Muuuum.’ The screech came from the kitchen door as Beth stood there in most of her uniform. ‘Kyle won’t tell me what he’s done with my tie.’ The whine in her voice was nothing new to the family home. It had appeared the moment she had turned thirteen and hadn’t left for the following fourteen months.

  Lisa let out a sigh. Mouthed ‘I love you’ again at Aaron and walked towards their daughter. Beth smiled at her dad, happy to get help coming her way. Aaron shook his head. It was easier dealing with the offenders at work than it was parenting two teenage children. He was going to be damn glad to get back to work. It wouldn’t be too soon for him.

  19

  I brought the room to silence and made sure I had everyone’s attention before I started the morning briefing. As well as the investigating team we had the presence of Detective Superintendent Catherine Walker and Detective Chief Inspector Kevin Baxter, Evie and Claire, the media liaison officer, who had the sunniest disposition I had come across in this line of work, though she used it to keep people off guard. She always managed to get her message across and brooked no messing.

  Everyone had their notepads out, pens poised.

  I updated them on the post-mortem from the previous day. Quickly ran through what we had from our lines of inquiry, which as it turned out, wasn’t a lot.

  A male had managed to walk into the middle of Market Square with a dead body and dump him there, setting him up in his own private crime scene for members of the public to come across on their walks into work that morning.

  The huge furore online was why Claire was here. There had to be a determined effort to deal with what we had, to make sure the public felt safe, were assured they were safe.

  ‘We really have no idea who this male is?’ asked Catherine, incredulous.

  ‘He knew the cameras would be on him and he made allowances for it. He dressed for the event. We don’t have a shot of his face so we don’t even know his ethnicity,’ I responded. There was no point in being coy about our lack of forward movement.

  ‘And what are you plans for today?’

  Well, if she let me finish the briefing she might just find out. I ran my hand through my hair. ‘Today we have multiple witnesses to identify and locate. We’re going to speak to everyone who saw Sebastian at the book club before he died. We’re going to speak to the members.’

  Catherine nodded.

  ‘We’re going to find out what kind of mood he was in. If he arrived anxious. If he raised concerns about anything during the meeting. If they noticed anything when they left. If anyone was waiting for him. If he met with anyone. Someone has to know something.’ I looked at the room. ‘I’m not buying that it was a completely random attack. Not with the crime scene set up around him.’

  I paired the team up so that we could work through the interviews at speed. Nick Henson hadn’t known much about the people at the book club. It wasn’t his thing and though he had hated to admit it, he had only half listened when Sebastian told him about the people he had spent time with.

  ‘He’s given us the location where they met and the website, because whoever ran the meeting had set up a professional looking website in order to attract more members. Nick said it was with a lot of help from Sebastian,’ I relayed.

  Catherine looked concerned. Baxter leaned in to her and whispered in her ear. I hated when they overshadowed my investigations like this and it only tended to happen if there was the possibility of a negative outcome on the department.

  Catherine nodded, lifted her chin and spoke up. ‘And the blog, Hannah?’

  I tried to let out the sigh as silently and unobtrusively as I could. ‘Evie is looking in to that for us. As soon as we know more then we can action it.’

  With a curt nod my update was dismissed and she and Baxter turned on their heels and left us to it.

  I looked to Aaron�
�s empty desk. What the hell was I going to do about this? I desperately needed Aaron back and it was great news he was healthy enough to come back, but I was concerned about the ability of Baxter to block him returning.

  There was movement in the office now as staff started to collect their coats and slip them on. Pool car keys were collected from the key-rack. It was time to find out what happened to Sebastian Wade the night before last.

  The Copper Café was a lovely pub to hold a book club in. It was on the busy Woodborough Road in Mapperley and was located within a row of shops, but inside, you felt away from the hustle and bustle of the high street outside. I had taken Pasha with me and paired Martin up with Ross. They were still at the office until I contacted them with the details of other book club members.

  We were met by the manager, a young man who looked as though he could barely be out of school. It didn’t help that he wore a pair of Harry Potter spectacles perched on his face. He was energetic and effusive. Eager to help. Offering us a warm drink, which we gladly accepted after walking in from the light drizzle of the day.

  Once we were seated I asked him about the meeting, about what he had seen that night, anything out of place, and if they held any CCTV.

  Unfortunately the only CCTV was directed in the grounds, to protect the customers’ vehicles.

  ‘But I was here. I served the group all evening. I can help in any way possible,’ he gushed.

  I asked him if the group felt different in any way. If there appeared to be any friction. What their usual demeanour was when they attended meetings here.

  ‘They’re a great bunch of people,’ he said, leaning forward. Pleased to be involved in the investigation. You often found this in people on the periphery of cases. If they weren’t directly involved and hurt by events, it was quite exciting for them to feel they were in the know a little. Especially, if, like this case, it was garnering some press interest. Worldwide internet interest. He could tell his friends he was involved.