by Bali Rai
I shook my head.
‘That’s his,’ said Kane. ‘Thirty-five grand, that. He keeps getting pulled over by the coppers, though. They think he’s selling crack . . .’
‘That’s awful,’ I replied.
‘How tings run for a wealthy black man,’ Kane told me. ‘Kinda fucked, you ask me.’
‘How come he lives at home, then?’ I asked, looking around the kitchen. ‘Like, if he’s so rich?’
‘Dunno,’ he replied. ‘Mum’s cooking? It’s cool having him around, though.’
Having eaten Mrs Williams’s food before, I could understand that. She was good.
‘So what we gonna do?’ Kane asked, his expression growing serious. ‘About Max?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t understand,’ I told him. ‘What can we do?’
‘Go to the police?’ he suggested. ‘Tell them about that Charlotte woman?’
‘DC Evans already asked us about that,’ I reminded him.
‘Yeah,’ replied Kane, ‘but they thought it was suicide then. Besides there’s something I forgot.’
‘What?’
‘Just about Charlotte – that he’d never actually seen her. It might be important, though.’
Neither of us spoke for a moment, before Kane continued. ‘It has to be foul play,’ he said. ‘It’s definitely not a suicide; otherwise they’d close the case.’
I considered Kane’s words and realized he might be right. Why would the police mention foul play if they weren’t already convinced? But then again, maybe Kane was wrong too. Wouldn’t the police have made it clear that it was a murder, if it really was?
‘They said that foul play is a possibility,’ I replied, trying not to get carried away. ‘Besides, we don’t know the facts.’
‘True,’ said Kane, ‘but we know more than most people.’
‘What about Amy?’ I added. ‘Do you reckon there’s a link?’
Kane shook his head again. ‘Doesn’t look like it,’ he told me.
I pulled a wad of paper from my bag. ‘I’ve been doing some research,’ I told him. ‘After we spoke earlier. There’s this thing – the Werther Effect – that leads to copycat suicides . . .’
I gave him a sheet to look at. As we drew closer, I felt the heat from his body. I tried my best not to blush but failed miserably. Thankfully Kane didn’t seem to notice.
‘See,’ I said, pointing at it. ‘There’s been suicide epidemics all over the world. Psychologists say that the media influences it.’
‘How?’ he asked.
‘Because they report it, and the public become more aware. So people are more likely to copy it,’ I explained. ‘And if someone you know commits suicide, you’re more likely to consider it too – if you’re already thinking about ending your life. There are so many examples . . . they call them clusters.’
‘And you think Max copied Amy?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied. ‘Maybe he wanted a way out and he followed Amy’s example? Like, even the rope was the same – that’s what the reporters said on the news.’
‘I guess the police must know this stuff too?’ said Kane.
‘Hope so,’ I replied. ‘They’re the experts.’
‘Who would want to kill Max?’ he asked.
I shrugged. It was a good question and I had no idea of the answer.
‘That’s what I want to know,’ I said. ‘DC Evans gave me her card. I’m gonna call her.’
The girl is weak. She frets about her weight, and the size of her thighs. She spends her time following her best friend, like some lapdog begging for attention. He’s seen the way she is, always uncertain, unsure of her place and worried about what other people think.
Now is the time to change up to another gear. To explain to her some simple truths about the way in which the world works. She is nothing compared to the Spider, and he will not let her escape. Yes, he could move on and leave her be. Maybe even find another to take her place . . .
But where is the fun in that? Where is the game? She is going to take more effort, and perhaps a change of strategy, but the Spider is nothing if not pragmatic. The web is already being spun. He will not let her escape its darkness . . .
24
We met DC Evans at our nearest police station – in a place called Wigston. The walk took us twenty minutes, and as we passed a McDonald’s, I saw some Year Nine lads from school. They were hanging around the car park on mountain bikes, doing nothing much. Two girls, probably Year Sevens, were with them – wearing their best clothes and caked in makeup. Each girl was looking at her own phone and not talking to the other.
DC Evans was waiting at reception, and walked us through to an interview room. She sat us at a table and shut the pale wooden door. She wore her uniform – a plain white shirt with dark trousers and flat shoes. Her blonde hair had grown a bit since I last saw her, but was still short and tidy.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked, taking the grey plastic chair opposite Kane.
‘We have more information,’ Kane told her. ‘About Max.’
She raised her perfectly shaped left eyebrow. ‘Something different to your previous statements?’ she asked.
‘I dunno,’ said Kane. ‘Maybe, yeah . . .’
She looked at me. I felt weak under her gaze. She was the most intense woman I’d ever met. Her eyes seemed to burn through me.
‘You too, Lily?’ she asked.
‘No – Kane’s got the information,’ I told her. ‘I just came with him.’
The officer took out a notepad. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s hear what you’ve got for me. But do remember that this isn’t official, so if need be I will have to request formal statements. At that point you’ll need to bring in a responsible adult – OK?’
‘I don’t care about that,’ said Kane. ‘Max was chatting to this woman – online.’
‘I know,’ said DC Evans, with a quick smile. ‘You told us.’
‘Yeah, but she was odd,’ he continued. ‘Like – Max never saw her face. He told me about the webcam sessions.’
‘You didn’t tell us that before,’ said DC Evans. She looked annoyed and intrigued at the same time, and I wondered what was going through her head.
‘I forgot,’ said Kane. ‘My head was all messed up. Only remembered when I discussed stuff with Lily later.’
DC Evans leaned forward in her chair, paying close attention. ‘Did Max describe the webcam sessions in detail?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Kane, looking uncomfortable.
‘And?’
‘It’s a bit seedy,’ he said, glancing at me.
I knew that he felt embarrassed talking about what Max had done, but he didn’t have a choice. I nodded at him,
‘I’ve heard everything in this job,’ said DC Evans. ‘Take your time.’
I think she was trying to make it easier for him. Kane definitely relaxed a bit before he replied.
‘This woman – Charlotte – she started er . . . interacting with him about two or three months back. They met in some chat room.’
DC Evans nodded but didn’t say anything this time.
‘She was older,’ Kane continued. ‘Max told me she was like thirty or something. Wanted a toy boy. She got him to do stuff for her . . .’
‘Such as?’ asked Evans.
‘Strip and that, on camera – and other stuff I don’t wanna talk about. She sent him sexy text messages too – he showed me a few.’
Again, I couldn’t help thinking of Benedict. Was that all he’d wanted from me too? Only there was no comparison. Benedict was just a bit intense and he wasn’t that much older than me – a teenager. This woman, Charlotte, if she was involved in what happened to Max, was much worse. She was an adult.
‘And did he seem to enjoy this contact?’ asked Evans.
Kane nodded. ‘Yeah – he was well into her. Like, besotted.’
DC Evans nodded again. ‘Anything else?’
‘He never saw her face because her webcam wasn’t
working. So, when he was online with her, she could watch him, but he could only see what she was typing. Couldn’t see her or hear her voice . . .’
The officer looked up, her dark brown eyes wide. ‘Are you saying that all Max ever really knew of this Charlotte was the text she typed?’
‘Yeah – exactly that,’ said Kane. ‘She sent a couple of pictures too – just random shots – but that could have been of anyone.’
This time my thoughts about Benedict made me panic a little. He’d sent me photographs too. I wondered whether I should Google him, just to be sure. Only, I was being stupid. No way were the two connected. That was just too weird . . .
‘We’ve seen those photos,’ Evans admitted. ‘But there are no traces of their conversations on his PC – at least none we’ve found yet—’ She stopped suddenly – and closed her notebook.
‘You’re examining his computer?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘that’s part of our enquiry.’
I wondered what else was part of their investigation. Was something else going on? It felt like it. ‘So what have you found?’ I added.
DC Evans shook her head. ‘That isn’t your concern,’ she told me. ‘This is an ongoing case and I cannot divulge sensitive information to the public. I’ve already said too much.’
Which sort of answered the question in my head. There was something else.
‘Is there anything more you’d like to add?’
Kane nodded at her and cleared his throat. ‘Max would never commit suicide,’ he said. ‘I’ve known him my whole life and he wasn’t like that. I think someone hurt him.’
‘Unfortunately, thinking something isn’t evidence,’ she replied. ‘We need more than that.’
‘The woman – Charlotte,’ said Kane. ‘She’s your answer.’
‘Only she didn’t post the video on Max’s Facebook page,’ DC Evans reminded us. ‘Max did that on his own.’
‘Nah,’ replied Kane. ‘She could have hacked him.’
‘Which is all speculation and conjecture again,’ said Evans. ‘If there is something, though, we’ll find it.’ She looked from me to Kane, and back again. ‘Thanks for this,’ she added, smiling warmly. ‘It will help, Kane. You were right to bring it to me. And, remember what I said before. We need you to keep quiet about this woman – Charlotte. I’m trusting you with that – OK?’
‘I just want the truth,’ he told her. ‘Max made a mistake but he didn’t deserve to die over it.’
Outside, Kane was upset, so I took his hand without thinking about what it might mean. It felt strong in mine, and his fingers were smooth and warm. He looked at me and gave a slight nod, his honey-brown eyes glistening. In that instant, I felt something click between us. It wasn’t ideal – in fact, it was in the worst of circumstances. But when I gave his hand a squeeze, he reacted the same way and the next look he gave me meant something. I was sure of it.
That evening, I saw that Benedict had messaged me again. I wasn’t going to reply, but suddenly I decided that enough was enough; the situation needed to be resolved – one way or another. All I wanted was Kane. If Benedict wanted to be friends, then fine, but if not . . .
He replied immediately after I’d messaged him.
Hey Lily – you in a better mood now?
No – not really.
Still down about your friend – Max?
I shook my head and considered blocking him and logging off. Of course I was still down about Max – he was dead. I began to wonder if Benedict was a complete moron. My reply was harsh but I was past caring.
That’s a stupid thing to ask.
Oh – and why is that?
Because Max is dead, Benedict. Of course I’m still upset. I’m not some heartless cow. He was my friend.
If you say so. Seems to me you’re ignoring reality. You need to talk about Max and how you feel.
You have no idea about Max.
Yes I do. I know exactly what Max was.
What?
A sad little pervert, Lily – that’s the truth. You just can’t face it.
His description of Max enraged me. My heart beat faster and my temples started throb. Benedict could go to hell.
He wasn’t anything like that, you twat!
He posted a sex video on his own Facebook page. Had webcam sessions with some woman he didn’t even know. He was sleazy.
No he wasn’t.
Yeah he was. And when he got caught, he took the coward’s way out. Committed suicide because he couldn’t man up. Hide it all you like, Lily. You know I’m telling the truth.
I think I’ve had enough of you, Benedict.
No – I decide when you’ve had enough.
What does that mean?
It means that people like me can choose, Lily. How about you – do you have that power?
What did he mean by ‘people like him’? What was going on? I felt a tremor in my lower lip and my hands grew suddenly cold.
Power? Are you a bit mad?
I’m as sane as anyone else. You’ve got serious issues, Lily, and you’re taking them out on me. It’s not right.
I haven’t got issues. I’m fine.
Really?
Well I will be as soon as you fuck off.
I slept badly that night but not because of what Benedict had said about Max. The nastiness upset me, but wasn’t the cause of my insomnia. That was the webcam. Hearing the details of Max’s online affair with Charlotte had brought it all back to me.
I went back over the details – again and again. I couldn’t remember sending my address to him, or asking for anything. Only, I must have sent it to him. The proof was there – in our conversation history. But did that mean anything anyway?
Webcams, hacking, suicides and pacts, possible murders – my thoughts were all over the place and it was hard to concentrate. Something didn’t add up, and I wanted to know what that was.
The Spider sees that Girl #2 is online again. He types.
Hey?
Hey you!
Guess what babe?
Did they like the photos?
Like? No – they didn’t like, babe. They LOVED them!
OMG! OMG! OMG!
They want to see you right away. Down in London . . .
I’m gonna scream or puke or summat. I’m gonna be famous!
I told you, didn’t I?
I know but I didn’t believe you. Like – not completely. But now I do!
I don’t make promises I can’t deliver. Said I’d make you famous. Now I’m going to.
Thank you – you’re so lovely!
Not half as lovely as you.
When we meet, I’m gonna snog your face off!
No need for that – just remember me when you’re swanning around film premieres and on the cover of Hello magazine.
When, when, when???!!!!
Three days. Tuesday evening. I’ll sort out travel arrangements and message you where we can meet up. It might be overnight.
OK – I’ll pack a bag. OMG – can’t wait to tell everyone!
Not yet. The agency demands complete discretion. It’s part of the contract. If you tell anyone, they’ll cancel.
Why?
The shoot will cost them money. They don’t want you running off with a rival agency . . .
You showed the pics to more than one?
To three – they all wanted you. This one offered the most.
How much?
We’ll discuss details when I see you. Just remember – keep this a secret. For now . . .
OK – see you on Tuesday.
I look forward to it, Molly.
The Spider signs out. He calls the OTHER.
‘Girl #2 is set. Tuesday evening.’
‘Do you require my services?’
‘Yes – your skills are just what we need,’ the Spider replies.
The OTHER chuckles.
‘Would your buyers appreciate more videos of this one too?’ the Spider asks.
‘Yes –
the demand for this stuff is high. I’m sure we could raise the price. I told you – it is a seller’s market.’
‘That’s up to you,’ the Spider replies. ‘Have you recorded any videos that I don’t know about – with your little pet project?’
‘Yes,’ the OTHER replies. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Not if you do as I say. I need your recorder and all of your hard drives here. I’m going to remove every trace of these videos before I move on.’
‘No problem,’ the OTHER tells him. ‘They’ll be online for ever.’
‘As will their star,’ replies the Spider.
The Spider wonders if the OTHER has any suspicions. He thinks back through their various conversations and decides that the answer is no. Once again, he is back in that dingy student hovel in Balham, camera in hand.
They’ve known each other for a very long time. Yet sentimentality isn’t the Spider’s style. The OTHER has broken the rules. He has endangered the Spider’s freedom. He is the only link between them.
There is no alternative. The OTHER must take the fall . . .
25
The Tuesday after speaking to DC Evans, I stood with Kane by the library, chatting to Danny. Molly Cooper walked past, dressed like a Z-list celebrity. She wore tight, glittery, silver shorts which barely covered her bum, a low-cut black top with lace cutouts across the belly and back, and thick makeup. Her hair, naturally soft and shiny, looked brittle, and on her feet were silver slingback mules with a platform heel.
‘Tasty,’ Danny bitched. ‘No, like, seriously, she’s got the wannabe WAG look down!’
‘Leave her alone,’ I told him.
I didn’t get on with her, but she wasn’t a bad person. Like, I didn’t know for sure that she was insecure but I could guess. She seemed to crave attention, and then acted like a cat with the cream when she got it. I couldn’t think of another reason why she would act like she did.
‘I intend to leave her alone,’ replied Danny. ‘There’s no bargepole long enough and mine isn’t interested anyway . . .’
Kane shook his head, his hair back in braids and tight against his scalp. He wore loose-fit jeans with a red zip-up hoodie and brilliant white trainers. His eyes sparkled. Between him and Danny, I felt like a goblin. Was Kane thinking about the other day – the way we’d held hands? I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. For once, however, Danny didn’t pick on the vibe between us. His gossip antennae must have been faulty. Besides, he was too interested in Molly.
