by Alex Caan
‘I’m sorry if that happens,’ said Zain. ‘I wouldn’t have insisted unless I thought it was important. And that you could help.’
Millie moistened her lips with her tongue, drank her tea. ‘You promised none of this would re open anything. I don’t want our conversation to get back to . . . certain people.’
‘You have my word, on my honour as a member of Her Majesty’s finest,’ he said, smiling. She laughed lightly. ‘The file summary was so clinical. It said you were thrown from the tenth floor, into a swimming pool. The Days said it was empty. The report didn’t mention how full it was.’
‘I doubt I would be alive if it had been empty.’
‘The Days were embellishing, then?’ said Zain. Millie shrugged. ‘I interviewed Dan today, about Ruby. He denied ever having pushed you.’
Millie’s eyes flared and her nostrils did, too. It was brief, her expression neutralising quickly, her temper drawn in. Is that why she was interested in Buddhism? Was she learning to tame that anger?
Zain understood. Maybe he should try meditation. Might be better than the pills. The ones that might contain alligator testicles. Why was he fixated on that concept?
‘Why would Dan lie so blatantly? To the police, as well?’ said Zain.
‘In his head it’s over, a closed case. He thinks because he didn’t end up in prison, it’s not real. He’s damaged, detective.’
‘Please: Zain.’
‘Zain, he’s damaged,’ she said.
Zain ran the sentence over his tongue, in his head. Someone might say that about him. ‘And for you? Is it real?’ he said.
‘I have metal splints in my legs; I fractured my ribs, my collarbone. It will be real for years, maybe even my whole life.’
‘I thought the swimming pool wasn’t empty? I don’t understand?’
‘Falling at the speed I did, hitting the water the way I did . . . it was like hitting an ice sheet,’ she said. ‘Luckily, I had some sense. I managed to shield my head, turn to my side. In those seconds, hundredths of a second, even, a survival instinct kicked in.’
She held her mug to her chest, the hot tea comforting her no doubt.
‘I’m sorry, that sounds horrendous,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand – why did you drop the charges?’
Millie looked away from him, staring at the Monet replica he had noticed on arrival. It was above his head. She seemed to feel the art, looked lost for a few moments. Then she turned her eyes to his.
‘It’s complicated,’ she said.
‘These things always are. Try me.’
Millie lowered her eyes, recalling what had happened? Zain tried to lighten the atmosphere.
‘How did your parents feel about it? When they saw you in that state.’
‘Let’s just say we aren’t the closest of families. They kept me in a boarding school most of my formative years. They visited me in hospital, of course, played the role of concerned parents. But even then it felt as though I was an inconvenience.’
Zain thought about Ruby’s parents. Were they playing a role?
‘Surely even more reason to sue him for everything he has? If you are alone, in a sense, I mean.’
‘And dredge the entire incident up in court, relive the horror of my injuries and face him again? It sounds so easy, suing people.’
‘I suppose it does to me. I still don’t understand why you didn’t.’
Millie stared through him, then directly at him.
‘Your honour, Zain, is it intact? This conversation won’t end up on a record somewhere? Can I trust you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, knowing it was a lie. If anything she said could be used to help their case, of course it would be used. ‘You can trust me. Anything you say, it won’t come back to hurt you. I can promise you that, at least.’
She mulled over his words as she swilled tea in her mouth. He watched her swallow, imagining the liquid moving down her jumper-covered throat.
Zain arched his back, stretching his neck from side to side. The tea was beginning to taste sour, so he put his cup down gently on the wooden floor, lacing his fingers as he watched Millie.
‘You probably should start at the beginning,’ he said. ‘What were you doing at the party in the first place?’
Chapter Twenty-three
Millie looked into the distance, pulling together her story. Zain thought the process of recollection was like inserting a DVD and watching it in your head.
‘Young man, has some cash, hormones raging. Invites his friends to occupy a hotel suite. It was an executive room on the tenth floor, the sort corporations book for meetings. He had the penthouse suite booked, too – that’s where the real party was, on the fifteenth floor.’
‘What was happening on the tenth floor, then?’
‘Food, cake. He even had jelly. They were casts – medieval – of forts and castles, but still just coloured jelly.’
‘And on floor fifteen?’
‘Open bar, champagne. An alphabet of drugs. A DJ. And to finish it all off . . .’
‘Escorts?’ said Zain.
‘Escorts,’ confirmed Millie.
He smiled, kept his eyes on her, didn’t want her to think he was judging her, looking down on her in any way.
‘There were half a dozen of us, hired for the occasion. Dan had invited his YouTube friends, some specially selected fans. And the weirdest ones were old school friends of his. You should have seen him. He was lording it over them – the school friends, I mean – really showing off. I got the feeling he invited them as a form of revenge.’
‘I get that,’ said Zain.
‘He was manic. One minute he would be hugging them, kissing them, plying them with drinks. The next he would berate them, tell them how this was his party, they were somehow diminished because they were there. It was a strange night.’
‘How did you end up back on the tenth floor?’
‘I was getting a headache,’ she said. ‘We weren’t there to sleep with anyone – I have to be clear about that. We were there just to help them enjoy themselves.’
‘The headache, did something trigger it? Something you took?’
‘Would I admit that to a police officer? But no. I don’t do drugs. Ever.’
‘The atmosphere, then? The music? That’s what caused the headache?’
She nodded. ‘The room on the tenth floor was empty by that time, but the doors were open to the balcony. I stood there, breathing in the air, trying to clear my head. I heard someone come into the room. It was Dan. By that point, he was wasted; he’d taken a bit of everything.’
‘What did he say? When he saw you?’
‘He said he’d followed me, saw me leave the main room. Said I was being paid to be up there and who did I think I was. I could tell he wasn’t right, and it frightened me. My first instinct was to head back up, not argue. But he blocked my way.’
Zain saw the ire rise into her face, the same flashing anger he had seen before. This time it wasn’t temporary, it stayed as Millie carried on speaking.
‘He was out of it, shouting in my face, grabbing my wrists. Then he . . . he tried to kiss me. I pulled away. I know what you’re thinking: I’m an escort. I still didn’t want to; I was only there to play hostess. He made me retch, as in actually want to be sick. He was disgusted by it, as I was bent over, trying to heave my guts out. And he couldn’t handle it, started shouting how he owned me, how I was his.’
Zain felt the words burn themselves into him. He had said the same about Ruby. She was his.
‘And then?’
‘I struggled with him, told him I wasn’t his property. He said it again, kept saying it. I was his; I was his. You are mine, and he grabbed me, and was pushing me towards the balcony. I fought him off as best I could. He isn’t strong, but it must have been the drugs, I don’t know. And then he picked me up and threw me over. And all the way down, as I fell through the air, while I was screaming, I swear to you, I could hear the bastard laughing.’
>
Chapter Twenty-four
Kate drove past the Miss Saigon signs, past Balans. Seeing the restaurant made her hungry. She had breakfasted there at 3 a.m. once. Scrambled eggs, bacon bits, maple syrup, washed down with hot black coffee.
From Old Compton Street, the heart of Soho, she turned sharply onto Frith Street. A ‘No Entry’ sign barred her way. She ignored it.
The MINDNET offices were a block away from Ronnie Scott’s. The glass doors and clean lines of the lower floors were topped off by listed red brick above: a building from two different centuries.
The wind picked up as she stepped out of her car, blowing hair into her face. She pulled it away, over her ear, smoothed down her suit.
Ruby Day was out there somewhere; somebody must know her location. Truth was, Kate was paddling. Her instincts were directed towards Dan, yet she was worried about ignoring the other possibilities. It felt like going through the motions, picking up everything she could, throwing it up in the air and seeing what landed.
Would MINDNET land? She was about to find out.
The receptionist had been chosen for her looks, Kate could tell. She was blonde, perfectly made-up, wearing a smart shirt that revealed her figure. Kate caught the look of slight judgement crossing the girl’s face as she took in the detective’s sombre ensemble.
Kate felt a burning rush through her. Even now, even from the heights she had reached, the things she had done, some chit of a girl was going to judge her for hair, make-up and clothes. Really? I have a doctorate from Brown University, she shouted in her head, and it helped her to smile and be polite.
‘DCI Kate Riley. I would like to speak to your CEO, please. Jed Byrne?’
‘I’m sorry, but Mr Byrne isn’t available,’ the receptionist said.
Kate looked at the nameplate on her desk. ‘Carrie, is it? I don’t think you understand. This is a formal police matter. I’m sure if you informed Mr Byrne, he would be more than happy to oblige me with some of his time. It concerns Ruby Day.’
There was a look of recognition, then excitement, on Carrie’s features. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll check for you,’ she said.
Kate perched on an uncomfortable chair in a corner given over for waiting clients. Magazines, mainly media and trade titles, were spread like a fan over a small table. Kate checked her phone and answered a couple of emails. DS Rob Pelt with confirmation that Windsor Court only had two exits. Unless Ruby abseiled down the building. Possible, but unlikely.
Unless it was indeed all a hoax? Kate didn’t understand this world, where young people posted videos online and it was an actual profession. Where was the talent? What were viewers and subscribers buying into?
Shadows formed in her mind, then fell across her face, as a woman in jeans and a smock dress held out her hand.
‘I’m Siobhan Mann,’ she said. ‘MINDNET’s head of communications. Mr Byrne isn’t in the office today, but he left instructions for us to help in any way we can. Such a tragic case. We were all so shocked when we saw the video. Anything we can do to help get Ruby home safely, please just ask. I’ve arranged a room for us to talk in, and I’ve asked our head of security, Bill Anderson, to join us.’
‘Thank you, Siobhan,’ Kate said, following her past the security barrier that Carrie released. Kate felt the receptionist’s eyes burning into her back as she headed to the elevators, and deep into the MINDNET offices. To discover what secrets they kept about Ruby Day.
Chapter Twenty-five
Bill Anderson was in his late forties, hair silver and black, eyes grey. He had a hard jaw, his square shoulders giving away his weight-lifting regime. He was dressed in a standard dark suit, sleeves too short, a tie falling above his belly button. He squeezed Kate’s hand with a noticeable pressure.
They sat in a conference room, a spider phone on the oval table, a videocon screen at one end. It was a space designed for twenty people; with the three of them occupying only one corner of it, it felt like they were trespassing. A coffee machine, with real china cups instead of throwaway paper ones, stood on a small wooden cupboard.
‘Can I get you anything?’ said Siobhan.
‘Coffee would go down well,’ said Kate. ‘Black, no sugar.’
‘Bill?’ said Siobhan.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, his accent Scottish, but the sort Kate could understand clearly. ‘Tragic case, all this. We were all shocked this morning when we heard Ruby is missing. Any resources you need, we will provide.’
‘Thank you. Yes, it is worrying, but I’m hoping I can avert a tragedy,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ said Anderson.
‘Her parents must be suffering,’ said Siobhan.
‘They are. I spent some time with them this morning. I’m trying to understand Ruby, and why someone might have taken her. It’s why I’m here. I need to understand more about her online profile. Explore that as a possible motive.’
‘It’s a worry, isn’t it? The internet. I know it’s our business, but still. I keep my own kids off it,’ said Siobhan.
Kate didn’t think she looked old enough to have kids that had to worry about online predators.
‘What exactly do MINDNET do?’ said Kate, after Siobhan handed her a cup filled with coffee and sat down.
‘We provide a global online resource,’ said Siobhan. ‘It sounds woolly, I know, mainly because it is. It’s an ever-changing marketplace; it’s impossible to define yourself. The market defines you. Needs change, we adapt.’
‘And currently? What have you evolved into?’
‘Our main focus is on harnessing the power of personality online, trying to channel a generation. There are hundreds if not thousands of online stars out there, with millions of followers, billions of video views. We are aiming to hone that power, and provide a quality control to it. Giving the viewers what they want, but better, and allowing the content providers to really make a living from it.’
‘And Ruby? How does she fit into this power dynamic?’
‘Ruby Day is one of our biggest assets; she’s key to our future. She is on a plan to take her from where she is now to become one of the biggest female stars on YouTube.’
While Siobhan spoke, Anderson was watching Kate intently. He had a Bluetooth in his ear, and Kate got the distinct impression he was recording the meeting. It would explain Siobhan’s scripted approach, at least.
‘Interesting piece of equipment, Mr Anderson,’ said Kate. ‘Is it entirely necessary? Are you expecting a call?’
He didn’t flinch, but made a show of pulling it out and switching it off. The room probably had some sort of in-built conference recording facility anyway.
‘From what I’ve gathered, Ruby came to you fully formed,’ Kate said. ‘What exactly were you providing for her?’
‘Numerous things. Video production is the most obvious service: we record her videos in a studio, and use effects on them. Nothing flashy – we want to keep the raw, one-to-one relationship in focus. Lighting, hair and make-up, some touching up, slicker pacing to keep the content engaging and fresh. It’s a feat to release a video so regularly. Imagine a fortnightly soap opera with only one character; it would take a team to make it work.’
‘Ruby seems to have managed without your help. Built herself quite a substantial fan base.’
‘Subscriber numbers are one thing. It’s easy to subscribe; it’s a mere click. People of that demographic click because they want to feel part of something. It doesn’t translate into anything unless those subscribers are watching your content regularly. The more eyeballs you get on your videos, the more advertisers are willing to pay in revenue.’
‘And you do what for Ruby? In terms of revenue?’
‘We formalise it, produce detailed breakdowns of who is viewing her channel and we work with the advertisers to make sure they are paying a fair price and receiving the maximum return.’
‘And how much of that return are MINDNET retaining?’
Siobhan didn’t flinch, but instead laughed a
s she gave a scripted reply. ‘We don’t disclose our client contract terms; we are legally bound not to.’
‘I think we can waive that, surely?’
‘Not without a warrant and Ruby’s consent.’
‘Then how about we explore the idea that Ruby was dissatisfied with what’s in this contract you gave her? That she wanted more revenue – because you weren’t actually creating fans for her; she was bringing them to you.’
Siobhan lost the nice, robotic image. She became colder. Anderson shifted in his chair, moving forward, his hands folded in fists on the table in front of him. Kate wanted to arch an eyebrow and ask them if eyeballing was all they had between them.
‘Rumours like this always abound,’ said Siobhan. ‘For all the success stories, there are thousands more that have tried and failed. For every Ruby, there are thousands of girls who barely even get into double figures in terms of subscribers and view counts. That hatred leads them to slander.’
‘So you’re denying Ruby was unhappy with MINDNET?’
‘Categorically. She was one of our flagship personalities; she is also dating one of our other flagship personalities. Why would we antagonise her?’
To pay for your offices in Soho? To pay for your expensive coffee machine? Your ex-SAS security chief? Your model receptionist?
‘And how far would you go, Siobhan, to ensure that Ruby gave you a return on investment? To ensure she got you and your advertisers the views? Something like this video of Ruby . . . it could go viral, right?’ said Kate. ‘I mean to say . . . would you do something so audacious, so mercenary, as to stage a kidnapping?’
Kate watched as Anderson and Siobhan exchanged uncomfortable looks. A long second ticked by, before they spoke again.
Chapter Twenty-six
Millie was in the bathroom. Zain suspected she was fixing herself. Her composure had been rocked. She was back in that room, Dan Grant pawing her, treating her like an object, screaming in her face, twisting her wrists, and then . . .
