Marks beckoned to another plain clothes officer and took several stapled sheets from him. “Here,” Marks said. “Read away. And while you’re doing that, my men will get started.”
“Wait. I want to go with them.”
“No, Mr Morgan. You will stay with me and answer questions.”
Ian sighed. There was no point in fighting this. “Go on then.”
“First, I must advise you that it is an offence for you not to inform the police about someone you believe is involved in a terrorism act.” Marks’ eyes bored into Ian. “You can get up to five years on conviction.”
“I can assure you Alice is not involved in any terrorist stuff. You’re making a mistake.”
“Oh yeah? Perhaps, Mr Morgan, you’re the one mistaken?”
24
Cole sat on his sofa with his feet up and fiddled with the burner. He set up a new Twitter account using the name @StalkingAlice, followed everyone who had posted negative comments on TV Girl Alice and thumbed a tweet - Hey @TVGirlAlice U BITCH!! I’m gonna grab u by the PUSSY!! My cock in ur mouth too!! Shut u up. #AliceMadsen #champagneTVgirl #champagneterrorist #StalkingAlice
He laughed as he read it again. This would be fun. He alternated his attention between his phone and a movie on TV. During lulls in the movie he refreshed his Twitter feed. He grinned at every new follower for @StalkingAlice. Then a new tweet caught his attention.
He sat up and he jabbed at the remote to change the station. The news channel was on a commercial break, so he searched for the latest reports about the attack on the phone’s browser. According to reports, the police arrested a 31 year old woman under the Terrorism Act and were questioning her at an undisclosed location. Posts on Twitter suggested the woman was none other than TV Girl Alice. There was also a phone video of her being brought out of her house and put into a police car. Cole studied the video and confirmed it was Alice Madsen.
When the commercial break ended, the news channel showed footage of police carrying items out of a house. He recognised the reporter and remembered she promised him £200 for the interview. It occurred to him the bitch was bullshitting about the money. He’d see about that later, and he upped the volume on the TV. The ticker bar scrolling on the bottom of the screen read Woman (31) arrested in house near Portobello Road.
He listened to Laura Bowfield’s commentary on a police officer walking out of a house carrying a cardboard box. She made it sound exciting. The police had a search warrant and were busy rifling the house. They didn’t name Alice, Laura only referred to a 31 year old woman, believed to be a non-national. Then they cut to footage of a woman with blonde hair being escorted onto the street. They had blurred her face, but Cole now knew it was Alice.
He glimpsed a house number on the gate pillar near an estate agent’s board, and he rewound the TV until he could identify the number. Then he wrote it down. He pressed play and watched two police manhandle a pixelated Alice Madsen into the back of a car. The footage followed the car as it drove off.
He changed the search words in the burner’s browser and found a similar video clip on another site. It was easy to download the clip and tweet it with the relevant hashtags. Watch #AliceMadsen get arrested! Think of what this BITCH did!! #ChampagneTerrorist #lockherup
Cole grinned at his tweet and re-read it several times. Then he picked up his other phone and posted the @StalkingAlice tweet to his other account and shared it to his Facebook page, where he urged everyone to forward the video. Within a minute he had four likes and one share. But when he thought about the situation, his grin faded as he realised he might not get his hands around Alice Madsen’s neck. Perhaps Birdy was right. He should forget any developing fantasies about Alice. No. Birdy was wrong. No matter what happened he’d never forget Alice Madsen and what she did to Daz.
25
In Kensington Police Station, they took away Alice’s shoes, the belt in her jeans, her jewellery and her watch. They made her remove her bra. Then they threw her in a cell. At least they took off the handcuffs. Alice rubbed at the red welts that now merged with the old scars on her wrists and felt the familiar ache.
No-one answered her calls and pleas. The occupant of another cell shouted at her to shut the fuck up. She sat on a concrete bench hugging her knees to her chest. She glanced at the stainless steel toilet bowl and curled her nose at the thought of having to use it. Her need would have to wait as long as possible. Would they be watching her? As the reality of her situation dawned on her, she struggled to hold back tears. She bit down hard on her lower lip in the hope physical pain would distract her. It didn’t, so she gave up and let the tears flow.
Her tears dried and time dragged. She paced the cell and peered through the tiny window set in the door. Just the wall opposite. She sat down again. Her arrest must be a mistake. She repeated it over and over, like a mantra. It’s a mistake. They’ll realise it soon and let me go with an apology. She glanced again at the toilet and grimaced. Cursing the earlier wine, she pulled down her jeans and squatted over the bowl while her eyes darted around for cameras or prying eyes at the window. When she finished, she pressed the flush button several times, but nothing happened.
She lay
