Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series)

by Ian Sutherland

  They sipped their cocktails companionably.

  “I don’t believe you’re a pervert,” Jenny stated with a mischievous grin.

  “Huh?”

  “Harry. He thinks you’re some kind of voyeur.”

  “Who’s Harry?”

  “Harry O’Reilly. Our Irish computer geek that you met earlier today.”

  “Oh, course, how could I forget Harry? With his incredibly gifted technical mind, his decades of programming experience and his uncanny ability to make gadgets do the most unlikely things. You know, with the massive rise of cybercrime in the world, I feel invulnerable at the thought of Harry out there keeping me safe online.”

  Jenny punched him lightly in the arm again. “Don’t be mean.”

  “Well, he couldn’t even spot the webcam in the light fitting! And don’t get me going on his knowledge of networking —“

  “Don’t change the subject, Brody. We were talking about Harry’s opinion that you’re a voyeur.”

  “Whatever gave him that idea?”

  “Apparently, you. You told him you were one.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I did.”

  “Well, are you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Why else would you have been looking at SecretlyWatchingYou?”

  “I told you this morning. I was helping out a friend whose girlfriend is being stalked on there.”

  “But that’s not really true, is it Brody?”

  Brody shifted in his seat. Suddenly he felt like a mouse trapped between a cat’s paws, unsure whether he was a plaything or a victim. And it was so typical. Just when he’d started to relax. What was he thinking, asking a policewoman out on a date? What an idiot.

  He played for time. “Why’d you say that?”

  “Because,” she was no longer smiling, “When you found out about the two murdered girls and one of the common links being SecretlyWatchingYou, you didn’t show any concern for your friend’s girlfriend. She could be the killer’s next victim.”

  “I doubt it. She’s not exactly good-looking.”

  “But if the stalker knows who she is in the real world — after all, you said he was sending her these videos — then so could the killer.”

  She was tying him up in knots. “Okay, okay, stop, will you?”

  Jenny turned to face him, waiting.

  He admitted. “Fair cop. You’ve caught me red-handed. There is no stalker.”

  “Or woman in a call centre who talks dirty.”

  “Well, there’s bound to be a woman somewhere who . . .” He saw her stern expression. “No, there is no girlfriend.”

  “So, why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why were you watching the Saxtons on SecretlyWatchingYou when you saw me?”

  “Maybe I told Harry the truth. Maybe I am a voyeur.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, what do you believe, Jenny?”

  She paused and slowly sipped her drink.

  “You could be the killer.”

  Brody was taken aback. He hadn’t seen that coming. In a flash, he understood her angle. “Oh, I get it. I’m one of those serial killers who wants to toy with the police. I commit the crime and then find a way to involve myself in the police investigation, just to prove how smart I am.”

  “And how stupid the police are, yes. It’s been done before.”

  “So is this why you came for a drink with me? To see if I’m the killer?”

  “One of the reasons, yes.”

  Brody held his arms out in front of him as if ready for her to handcuff him. “Well, you’ve got me officer. You saw through my little charade far too quickly. You’d better take me into custody before I hurt someone else. After all, that’s what I subconsciously want.”

  “Prove to me you’re not.”

  “Not what?” But he knew where this was going. Now he felt like he’d just been checked in a chess game.

  “Not the killer.”

  “Isn’t it you who has to prove my guilt? I shouldn’t have to prove my innocence.”

  “Humour me, Brody. Here I am having a drink with someone I hardly know, something I rarely do. I’m asking myself whether I can trust this person. This person who rocked up out of nowhere this morning with a convoluted story that’s since been proven untrue. But a person who has privileged information that is pertinent to the investigation. Which indicates you’re the killer, a pervert or something else. Which is it, Brody?”

  His alarm bells were going off now. He was such a fool to have gone anywhere near the police. Leroy was right. His ego had got in the way again, thinking he could use the police investigation to further his own ends. Brody studied her face. Underneath her intense stare, he thought he could see something. Was it hope? There was only one way out of this. He needed to tell the truth.

  He inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly. “I saw you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She was angry now.

  “When I saw you on SWY, I just had to meet you. You were so . . .”

  Her eyes bored deeply into him.

  He continued, almost whispering. “I am an IT security consultant – that bit’s true. But it wasn’t work that brought SecretlyWatchingYou to my attention. It was my flatmate, Leroy. Initially, we were just fooling around on it, having a laugh, trying to work out if the people in the webcams knew they were being watched. But I began to become suspicious about the site and started looking into it. It’s obviously completely dodgy. And then, when I saw you and the other police, it was obvious you didn’t know anything about it. I had no idea if it would have anything to do with your case. And, to be fair, we still don’t for sure. But by telling you about it . . .” He realised he was almost pleading. He paused and then finished brusquely. “I got to meet you.”

  Jenny processed what he had said.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “And there’s nothing else?” She had a catch in her voice.

  Brody knew with complete certainty that he needed to tell her the rest. What he had said so far was mostly true and he could tell she wanted to believe him. But it was only half of it. He needed to tell her about his objective of hacking into SWY. That he had used her investigation as a means to further his own ends, to find an unprotected back door into the site. But he was a hacker and she was a policewoman. Even though he was a white hat, he knew that to achieve his own ethical objectives he often strayed just outside the law, the one thing that she was programmed to uphold. If he told her the complete truth, he would lose her before they’d even had a chance. He knew that instinctively.

  He took her hand. “No Jenny. This is just about you.”

  Her smile broke his heart.

  She whispered, “Well, that’s all right then,” and reached an arm around his neck and lightly pulled him towards her. He offered no resistance. They kissed, deeply, hungrily and, for him, bittersweetly. Whether it was the gin or his guilt at holding back from admitting the whole truth he wasn’t sure. Some time later she pulled back, a mischievous grin on her face.

  “Harry was right then.”

  “Eh?”

  “You are a voyeur.”

  THURSDAY

  CHAPTER 16

  She sensed the early morning daylight streaming through the window but kept her eyes shut, not quite ready to face the day and all its implications. Tentatively, she stretched a foot towards the other side of her bed, expecting to meet warm resistance. But her foot kept going. She reached out with her hand and felt only cold linen. She opened her eyes and silently swore. The other half of the bed was empty.

  Jenny Price felt the humiliation rising up from her stomach.

  Strewn across the floor lay all the evidence she needed — a trail of clothes from their rushed disrobing, hands having fumbled with each other’s zips, buttons, clasps and buckles as cumbersomely entwined, they backed their way from the front door, down the hallway and into the bedroom, finally naked and falling onto her bed — but the crime
was more apparent from the evidence that was missing: his clothes. She grabbed her pink dressing robe from the back of her door to cover up her naked body and stormed out of the room. A quick scout around her flat confirmed her fears. Brody had taken off.

  In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, preventatively popped some Paracetamol to shore up her defences against the hangover she knew loomed on the horizon, and avoided looking in the mirror. She didn’t want to see the face of the stupid girl who had allowed herself to be duped once again. When would she ever learn? Why couldn’t she just treat a one night stand as something to be enjoyed in and of itself? Why did she always want sex to mean something more? This was the modern world, why on earth couldn’t she play by its insouciant rules?

  She splashed cold water over her face, flung open the bathroom door and walked straight into Brody.

  “Whoa,” he said, backing up, holding onto a cardboard tray containing takeaway coffees and croissants.

  “I . . .” Jenny gathered herself. “I thought you’d left.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.” He held up the tray of goodies. “I left the door on the latch and went foraging for provisions. Looks like you’ve got some half-decent coffee places round here. Cappuccino Okay?”

  “That would be lovely. The kitchen’s just down there.” Now she really did want to look in the mirror. Jenny backed into the bathroom. “I’ll be with you in a mo.”

  Her reflection required some repair work but first she let go a stream of silently mouthed curses at herself for doubting him. Relieved, she took a quick shower and gave herself a light application of mascara, eye shadow and eyeliner. She wondered back into the kitchen, in her pink robe. Her hair was brushed back, still wet.

  Brody had laid out breakfast on the kitchen table. He’d even transferred the coffee from paper cups into china ones from her cupboard. He was leaning on the sink, back to the window, hands in his pockets.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he replied. How could one word be so laden with meaning?

  They stood looking at each other. She began to feel a little awkward.

  He removed a hand from his pocket, smiled and reached out to her. She took his hand and allowed herself to be reeled in. He kissed her and she no longer felt awkward. She responded by reaching her arms up behind his shoulders. With his other hand, he pulled her closer. She could feel his hardness.

  “Well hello,” she quipped, pressing her body forward.

  He backed her towards the kitchen table and lifted her onto its surface, tugging the robe from her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and then unzipped his flies while he reached behind her to push the breakfast towards the safety of the other side of the table. She could feel her heart booming.

  “Time out,” she declared.

  He stopped, confused. She extricated herself from the table and said, “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

  Jenny skipped out of the kitchen, suddenly conscious of his eyes on her naked rear, darted into her bedroom, reached into her sideboard drawer, found what she needed and scurried back into the kitchen. Understanding dawned across his face when she waved the condom packet at him, more as a distraction from her full frontal nakedness. She manoeuvred herself back into the exact same position as when she had left.

  “Right, continue.”

  Moments later, she guided him into her and lay back on the table, arching her back to heighten the intensity. Gently, he stroked her flat stomach, her small breasts, and her neck. His thrusts started to take on more vigour and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in closer. The table began to move jerkily across the limestone tiles and she could hear the cups, saucers and plates sliding about on its surface. She hoped they didn’t fall and crash to the floor, but the nearer she came to climax; the less she cared about the damned crockery. And when the inevitable crash occurred, she commanded him not to stop. By the time they had finished, all of the crockery lay smashed on the floor amid puddles of steaming coffee and soggy croissants.

  “I think,” said Jenny, panting into Brody’s ear, “this gives new meaning to having someone for breakfast.”

  “Or,” he lifted his head from nuzzling her neck to look her in the eye and, deadpan, said, “laying the table.”

  A few minutes later, Jenny swept up the broken crockery and croissants while Brody mopped up the spill. They agreed it was probably better if they ventured out for a replacement breakfast. But then Jenny remembered that they’d both left their cars in Central London and suggested that they grab a bite on the way to Richmond Underground station.

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in Taylor St Baristas just outside the station. Jenny put her foot down over paying; pointing out with a smirk that Brody had already bought breakfast that morning.

  As Jenny munched on a pain au chocolat, her phone rang, bringing the real world back into focus with its shrill tone. She sighed, seeing from the caller display that it was Fiona. Rapidly, Fiona explained that she had been in the station since 5:00 a.m. to get a head start on cross-referencing the employee and tenant data supplied by Flexbase, which made Jenny feel guilty. A few names had popped up on the police database, but there was nothing particularly promising. It did, however, suggest that there was one company that rented office space in both the Paddington and Watford Flexbase offices, which was why Fiona had phoned: to let Jenny know that she was just heading out to follow up on it. Jenny wished her luck, knowing in her gut that it was a weak lead; like most of the lines of enquiry they were currently pursuing.

  “There must be something we’re overlooking,” Jenny said to Brody, as she put the phone down.

  “Sounds like you’re covering every angle to me.”

  “We’ve got so many links, so many connections between the two crimes. But nothing that’s getting us anywhere.”

  “Is that how it works? You find all the common points of reference between the two victims to lead you to a common perpetrator?”

  “One of the ways, especially with stranger killings. But sometimes there are just too many commonalities.”

  “And even if there isn’t, the theory of six degrees of separation says everyone is connected anyway.”

  Jenny had heard of the theory. That everyone in the world is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, to everyone else in the world. It was a comforting notion that made the world seem a smaller place.

  “True, but we’re looking for someone with a direct connection to both victims. Find them and usually we find our answer.”

  “But that assumes the killer knew the girls beforehand. What if SWY really is playing a part in this? Then you’re two degrees away, with the site acting as one of the degrees.”

  It made sense. If the killer really was selecting his victims from watching webcam feeds, then he was already two steps away.

  “Well, let’s assume it’s true for a minute. Surely that means that the killer is registered in the site’s database?”

  “Agreed, but you’ve got at least three major hurdles to overcome. One, the site is hosted in Russia. No one is going to give you access, even though you’re police. In fact, especially because you’re police. Two, the personal information people provide when they register is minimal and, in most cases, probably fake. For example, when I signed up to it, I created a completely fake email address. There’s no way you’d be able to track me down from the data in that database.”

  “But what about payment? If the killer is addicted to watching the webcam streams, he’ll have paid the upgrade fees to gain access to the premium webcams and the audio. Surely we can trace the money. It’s electronic after all.”

  “It’s not that difficult to remain completely anonymous online, even when you’re buying stuff and especially if you’re not shipping anything physical. Like paying to watch webcams for instance.”

  “But credit cards have to be registered to a real-world address.”

  Brody shook his head. “There’s pre-pay gift cards y
ou can buy without giving your address, where you top up the balance and then buy stuff as if they were a credit card. Or you can use digital cash. Same thing.”

  “That’s depressing. And three?”

  “Three what?”

  “You said there were three major problems with using the site’s database. You’ve only mentioned two.”

  “Oh right,” he smiled. “Three is about the people behind SecretlyWatchingYou. Whoever the site admins are, they know full well they’re breaking tons of privacy laws all over the world. Which is why the site has some of the best security defences I’ve ever seen, much better than your average online bank. And given the laws they’re breaking, they’re hardly going to come forward and help the police by giving them access to their customer database.”

  “Do you think these site admins are in the UK?”

  “I’ve had a quick look, but there’s no way to tell for sure. It’s not like they’ve left their contact details.”

  “But the webcams are physically in the UK aren’t they?”

  “Definitely some of them. Maybe all. No way to tell for sure.”

  “Maybe the people behind HomeWebCam can tell us?”

  “You’re assuming every webcam on HomeWebCam is also on SecretlyWatchingYou. And vice versa.”

  “They’re not?”

  “Again, I don’t know for sure. I’m pretty sure SecretlyWatchingYou is somehow getting its feeds from HomeWebCam. It’s the only logical explanation.”

  “Which makes it even more important to talk to the people behind HomeWebCam.” Jenny then had a worrying thought. “Unless they’re in cahoots with each other.”

  Brody thought for a moment and admitted, “You know, I hadn’t thought of that. HomeWebCam very much trades a legit business, located in the USA and with its servers in the USA. SWY is located in Russia. Doesn’t mean they’re not working together. And I imagine SWY makes a ton more money. All that said, I think it’s unlikely. But you’re right, it’s well worth checking out.”

  Jenny wasn’t sure if he meant for the police to check out or for himself. Either way she was pleased to have thought of something herself.