by Lenny Brando
“Go to a hotel. Give us some time.”
“And if you don't catch him?”
“He’ll make a mistake. They always do.”
“Yeah?”
Kapoor yawned. “I’ll call you tomorrow with an update. In the meantime, keep a low profile. No social media and go to a hotel.”
When the call ended, Alice turned to Ian. “Can you believe that? They say we should move out. Go to a hotel. Like, tonight.”
Ian scratched his head. “How would he get in? We changed the locks. Maybe he’ll give up on you, go after someone else?”
“For pokker, Ian. Give up? This guy is obsessed with me.” She gestured to her chest. “Me. He won't stop until he’s caught.”
“Jeez. How long will we have to stay in the hotel?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“He won't bash the door in. Not while I’m here.”
“Yeah. I bet he’s terrified of you.”
Ian winced and took a deep breath. “Regardless of that, he won't try anything if he thinks you're not alone. He put a lot of effort into his plan. The viewing, copying the keys, the camera, the break in. If you think about it, he had a onetime shot and he must have known it. That’s gone now. Maybe it’s over.”
Alice pointed a finger to her head and raised her voice. “Think, Ian. Think. The camera. He will have videos of me in the bedroom. What’s he going to do with them, huh?”
“He mightn’t do anything.”
“Pfft. He went to a lot of trouble to get them. No. He will use them. Probably on Twitter.” She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
“Huh? Why?”
“I don’t have Twitter on mine anymore.”
Ian tapped on his phone and handed it to her with the Twitter app open. She held her breath and searched for #AliceMadsen. Her head dropped as she read. One tweet stood out.
From the bedroom of #AliceMadsen #Champagneterrorist @StalkingAlice brings you #MarkFlanagan and #HairyHannah. Enjoy.
Alice clicked on the link and the video played. She held it so Ian could see it too. “That’s my bed. They’re having sex on my bed. It’s on the internet.”
“Jeez,” Ian said. “At least we know who broke in now. The guy who sent this. And he’s honest enough to call himself Stalking Alice.”
Alice’s pulse rose as she followed the Twitter thread. She groaned as she read requests from anonymous people for videos of #AliceMadsen #doingit.
Patience friends. @StalkingAlice will bring u HOT NAKED #AliceMadsen doing it 2 herself!!! #champagneterrorist #wanking #soon
“Oh my God,” Ian said. “Did you really?”
Alice felt her face flush. “No. No. I did not.” Tears filled her eyes. “How could he do this to me?”
“We should leave the house. At least for a few days.”
Alice shook with sobs. “Everybody will see it. What will they think of me? They’ll laugh at me.”
“Let’s pack and go. It will be all right.” He went to hold her, but she pushed him away.
“Don't you see? It doesn't matter where I am. He can get to me anywhere. All the hotels in the world don't matter. He... he already controls me.”
82
Mark Flanagan hesitated before he opened the door to Beauchamps Estates on Notting Hill Gate, but there was no point in stalling. Inside, Michelle and Ed avoiding eye contact and busied themselves with their computers. The area manager, Gary Fitzgerald beckoned through his open door, and Flanagan shuffled into the office.
“Shut the door,” Fitzgerald said and waved to a chair. “We’ve got a problem, Mark. The police were here asking questions about you and a viewing on the Portobello property. It seems the viewer,” Fitzgerald looked at a sheet of paper, “Brian Hailsham, copied the keys and obtained the alarm code. Hailsham, not his real name, subsequently accessed the property where he installed a video camera disguised as an alarm motion sensor in the main bedroom. Days later, he entered again and attempted to rape the client.” Fitzgerald stared at him. “Well? Have you anything to say?”
Flanagan developed an itch in his eye and rubbed at it while he thought of a suitable response. The only positive he could think of was that Fitzgerald hadn’t mentioned the video of Hannah and himself on the bed. But that still left a whole lot of negatives.
“I’m sorry. But like, it wasn't my fault.”
“How did he copy the keys?”
“I don't know.”
“Were they in your possession at all times?”
Flanagan grimaced and shook his head. “No.”
“What does our security process say?”
“Yeah. I know. Look, it was an accident. A mistake. I didn't think he could copy them. How could he? It’s not like he had a machine in his pocket.”
“The police think he made impressions with putty or plasticine. And the alarm? You’re supposed to keep it discrete, like your ATM pin.”
“He told me he was on a call. He must have videoed it.”
Fitzgerald put his head in his hands. “Mark, this is a PR fucking disaster. Head office are going mental. I have to let you go.”
“What? You mean like, fired?”
“Er, hello? What the fuck did you expect?”
83
Cole staggered into his flat and put his hand on the wall to stop the place spinning. He stayed in the hall for several minutes, then made his way to the lounge. The TV remote slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. When he bent over to retrieve it, his stomach heaved, and he pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled in the vague direction of the bathroom, but bashed into the table on his way, and a sharp pain shot through his hip. He cursed and almost fell. As he shoved open the bathroom door, he retched and before he could get his head near the toilet bowl, he vomited the contents of his stomach in a narrow arc onto the wall, where it dripped down over the skirting board and onto the floor.
He stayed at the bowl for the next 10 minutes, cursing, groaning and puking until his abdominal muscles ached. What the fuck was with those pills? Or was it the booze? He’d long lost count of the number of pints he drank. He had a hazy memory of popping some Captagon, but he couldn’t tell whether it was real or imaginary. Twice he tried to get to his feet, but each time his legs gave way. He grabbed hold of the toilet and pushed himself up with his hands, then took hold of the sink and dragged himself upright.
The bits of partially digested food caught between his teeth and under his tongue worsened the foul taste. As he rinsed his mouth out, he tried to remember what he had eaten, but he soon forgot what he was trying to remember. He made it to his bedroom with only one serious stumble, where he threw himself face down onto the duvet and fell into dreamless oblivion.
84
Ian unpacked his bag in the hotel room while Alice lay on the bed. Jo had sent him another text and he hadn't been able to read it in full yet. The fact he hadn't replied to the one she’d sent that morning also played on his mind. He gave his head a shake hoping to stem the growing guilt, but the feeling persisted. It was past time to move on from Jo.
“What do you reckon?” he asked Alice.
Alice shrugged and pressed the TV remote to flip through the few available channels.
He hung his jacket in the wardrobe and placed his bag on the shelf. He glanced over to her, “You hungry?”
She shook her head.
“Tired?”
She didn't look at him, just nodded and continued to stare at the TV.
Ian’s phone vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it as he had a fair idea of who was calling him. “Do you mind if I get something to eat at the bar? Or I can stay here if you prefer?”
She shrugged again and Ian rolled his eyes. “What does that mean?” he asked.
“I don't care,” she said. “Do whatever you want.”
“Fine. I’ll be downstairs. Call me if you need anything.” He stopped at the door and put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside handle. “You should lock the door. You know, just in case.”
She didn’t reply, and he let the door swing shut behind him as he walked to the lift. He waited until he got to the bar and had ordered a large gin and tonic before he looked at the latest message from Jo. Now I am worried! Where are you? Call me Jo xxx. He put the drink on the room tab and sat at a table where he could keep an eye on the entrance.
He took a deep breath and called Jo.
“Ian. What’s going on?”
“Sorry. I had to go back to London. It’s Alice.”
“Oh.” She sighed down the phone. “What now?”
“Someone broke into the house last night and tried to rape her.”
“Shit. Oh shit, Ian. Sorry, I sounded, um, callous. I didn't mean to be. Is she all right?”
“Not physically affected. But the psychological ramifications are another ball game. It’s not the first time.”
“You never told me that. Is that why...?”
“Yeah. This won’t improve things. That’s for sure.”
“My God. That’s just awful. I can't imagine how I’d react if it were me. I’d want to run home and hide forever.”
“The police advised us to move out of the house. And now I’m in another hotel, the Metro in Ladbroke Grove. It may look like the one we were in last night, yet everything couldn't feel any more different.”
“How long will you be in the hotel?”
“The weekend at least. Hope to move back home on Monday or Tuesday. We’ll go stir crazy in here.”
“I can imagine.” She paused, and Ian heard her take several breaths. “Look, I know this isn't the ideal time, but when will I see you again?”
“Jeez, Jo. I can't say.”
“I see. Maybe you should go look after Alice.”
“Yeah. I should...”
“Then you have a decision to make...” She paused and took a deep breath. “Awkward, isn't it?”
“Very.” Ian took a long drink from his gin. “I better go. I’ll call you.”
“Another promise?”
“Sure.”
“You sound convincing.”
“Sorry. It’s just... I don't know...” Ian looked around the bar for a moment and tried to think. “Are you in Lime Street on Monday?”
“Uh huh.”
“Coffee in the AM?”
“To say goodbye? Is that it?”
“I’ll call you Monday.”
85
Kapoor and Manning sat in a meeting room armed with coffees, a secure laptop, notepads and pens. Kapoor rubbed the back of her neck and stretched. “This might take a while.”
Manning pointed at her watch. “Well past end of shift. This is OT, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“That yes? Cos I’m going out later.”
“I’ve gotta life too.”
“Oh yeah?”
Kapoor ignored her, plugged a mouse into the USB port and powered on the laptop. She took a sip of coffee while it booted and curled her mouth. “Christ.”
“What?”
“Doesn't matter. Here’s what we’ve got.” She logged onto the system, clicked open the case file on the database and pointed to the screen with her pen. “Maurice Williams, the digi-tech in CEG, recovered files from the camera’s SD card in Alice’s bedroom.”
“How come? You’d think the guy would have deleted them.”
“Williams mansplained it earlier.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Here’s the short version...”
“Thank you.”
“When you delete the file, you only delete it from the directory. The data remains on the card. If you record new files, then the old ones get overwritten, but in this case, there were no new files, so...”
“The data is still there.”
“Now this one here,” Kapoor typed on the keyboard and a played video clip. “This is the assault. Let’s watch.”
They watched in silence until they saw the dark clad figure run from the room, and Kapoor stopped the playback. “Looks like she used something to fight him off. She didn't mention that. Said she used her arms and legs like a demon. Probably pepper spray.”
“That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
Kapoor nodded. “Guess that’s why she forgot to mention it.”
“Could be perfume?”
“Not sure anyone will buy that.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“Nothing for now. I’ll talk to her. Let’s go back to the attacker.”
“Could be anyone,” Manning said. “Williams say anything about the other files?”
“Just Alice doing bedroom stuff.”
“Anything compromising?”
“No sex, other than our friend Flanagan, but several of Alice undressed. Nothing abnormal.”
“Unless you’re an obsessed predator?”
Kapoor nodded. “Yeah. He’ll use these to either control her or embarrass her. Or he might keep them for his own gratification.”
“But she’s got nothing to worry about if it’s normal bedroom stuff.”
“Come on Liz. Would you like a stranger recording your bedroom activities? Putting those videos on social media?”
Manning pinched her nose. “No. Guess not.”
“Let’s leave social media out of it for now. It may only be a threat.” Kapoor dragged the video playback position marker with the mouse and clicked. “Here, you can see from the video he drops a packet of pills during the struggle with Alice. They’re Captagon. Same as used by the terrorist during South Ken.”
“Is there a connection to the attack?”
“If they were hers, then our friend DI Marks in SO15 would have her back in his care. SO15 are sniffing at this, but not biting. Anyway, no prints on the bag, but partials on several pills.”
“Shit. We have a recording of the crime and a dropped possession, but sod all from either. Did anything ever come from the brick through the window?”
“They couldn’t lift anything from the brick. They have partials from the beer mat, but all that would prove was that owner of the fingerprints was in the pub.”
“Great. We’ve got nothing.”
“That’s about right, unless the partials on the pills are decent. Anyway, Flanagan’s agency confirmed the guy used an alias of Brian Hailsham to view the property. The phone number he gave was fake. He wore a hat, gloves and glasses. The CCTV in the agency wasn't working.”
“Street CCTV?”
“Someone’s on it. We’ll see what turns up, but it’s a long shot. Twitter might help. Williams’s been through it. The guy has an account called @StalkingAlice. He emailed the link to the sex video to Flanagan, which we saw earlier. Since then, he tweeted a public link to the Flanagan video using #AliceMadsen along with other hash tags relating to South Ken and promised more later. Seems he intends to post the bedroom videos of Alice.”
“Think he’ll contact her first? Taunt her?”
“He might. Obviously, he’s using a burner. Williams’s trying to get a number, but the stalker’s careful so far. We can try for IP addresses, but that’s another long shot.”
“Shit.”
“Yep. Shit. Let’s come at it another way. What’s his motive?”
“Sex? Obsession?”
Kapoor brushed her hair from her eyes. “Looking at his tweets, many connect to South Ken. Williams thinks there’s a link and so do I. There’s a trend. He created @StalkingAlice after the attack. See the hash tags he used? #lockherup. #champagneterrorist. #stalkingalice Supposing the motive is revenge?”
“Seems a strange way to go about it.”
“Perhaps he’s using revenge as the excuse to indulge a sexual fantasy or obsession?”
“Perhaps he’s just a proper bastard?”
“Could be. We need to look at the victims. Friends and families. Might even be someone who was there. Let’s look at relatives of those who died and were injured. You know, life changing injuries. Maybe there are still some victims in a critical condition.”
“Seriously Sarge? That’s a lot of people.”
“We prioritise people of interest. Profile them. Male. 20s or 30s. White. Present at the scene. Have a close friend dead or seriously injured. Then we’ll get photos to show Flanagan, see if he recognises Brian Hailsham.”
“SO15 will have a list of witnesses. Doubt they’ll have photos though.”
Kapoor wobbled her head from side to side. “Between SO15 and social media we’ll get photos. I’ll request the witness list. But it’ll need Thorne’s approval.” She entered the details on the computer and sent the file to Thorne. A minute later, her mobile rang. She showed it to Manning. “Thorne.”
“That was quick,” Manning shook her head and pointed at the phone. “I gotta bad feeling about this.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Good timing, Sergeant.” Thorne sounded cheerful, as if Kapoor had solved a problem for him. “I wasn't sure who to give this to, but I need to assign a SOIT to an urgent case.”
“But I’m already assigned, Sir. And I was off shift an hour ago.”
“Now you've got another sexual assault, an actual rape this time. It’s OT. Most of my detectives want the OT. Your current case is non-urgent, and knowing SO15, it will take them hours to clear this request, so in the meantime... Well, you don't need me to tell you what to do.”
She rolled her eyes at Manning. “I’m on it, Sir.” Kapoor put the phone down and shook her head. “I’ve got another one. You want in?”
Manning shook her head. “You mad or what? I told you already. I’m going out with a friend tonight, and if we’re done, I’m outta here.”
“You could call someone at SO15 and get a head start. See if any of their mobile phones were in the Portobello Road area?”
“Sure. I’ll put in those hours of work.” Manning got to her feet. “But sorry, Sarge. It will be tomorrow morning.”
“What about Alice Madsen?”
“She’ll have to wait.” Manning stepped towards the door and looked back. “Sometimes Sarge, the question I gotta ask is ‘What about Liz Manning?’ There’s only so much I can give.” She paused for a moment. “Same goes for you.”
