It took twenty minutes to cut through Weavers Fields to a derelict building on Wilmot Street. He took the two SD cards and hid them in a crack in the wall. The bag went under some rubble, and he covered it with debris. Satisfied no-one would stumble across it, he nodded to himself and made his way back home.
It had been good while it lasted. He’d develop another plan for Alice. He’d rest for a day and plot. Figure out a way to mess her head up with the video clips. Then he'd come for her for the final time.
70
Ian rolled over and glanced at the bedside clock. 7:44AM. He groaned at the growing pain in his thumping head. The conference could wait. He rolled back and spooned into Jo. She rewarded him with a little wriggle and a stifled moan. For several minutes, he drifted in and out of sleep, breathing in the dying scent of Jo’s perfume until she stirred.
“I gotta get going,” she said.
“To the conference?”
“Meeting the CEO at 10. Need a clear head.” She sat up in the bed, and Ian ran his hand up her side and cupped her breast. She brushed him away. “Jeez. How much did we drink last night?”
Ian propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know.”
Jo stood and stretched, giving Ian the benefit of a full frontal. “Don't look at me like that,” she said.
“Temptress.”
She wagged a finger at him. “No way. I’m going to my room to shower and change.” She got dressed, leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Ew. Brush your teeth before you go anywhere. I’ll call you later.”
“Think I’ll go back to sleep,” he said. “Save my energy for you later, huh?”
“That a promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to that.”
After Jo left, he lay on the bed, but sleep wouldn't come, so he fumbled for his phone and switched it on. Seconds passed before the import of Alice’s text message dawned on him. He sat bolt upright and read it twice more. Please call me. Someone broke in. Attacked me.
His fingers shook as he called her.
“Alice? What, uh, happened? Are you all right?”
“N... No. I need you to come home.” She sniffled down the phone.
He tried to control his voice. “What happened?”
“Someone broke in and attacked me. He... He had a key. Tried to rape me... But I fought him off. I used the mace.”
“Christ Alice. Fuck. Have you called the police?”
“They’re still here. Well one of them is, waiting for forensics.”
“Oh God, Alice. I’m so sorry.”
“For not telling me about the lounge window?”
Ian flopped back on the bed and closed his eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Maybe...” Her voice rose and several words sounded broken. “Maybe... if you told me this wouldn't have happened.”
“No, Alice. No. There’s nothing to say they’re related.”
“But you don't know that. The police think it might be.”
“I’m sorry. Okay? Look, I’ll get the next train down. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
She sobbed into the phone. “It... It was your friend...”
“What? Who?”
“Flanagan. The estate agent. Your boss’s son. He did it.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes, Ian. Fuck. The police will arrest him after they leave here.”
“Why? I mean why would he do that?”
“There’s more. He had a spy camera in the bedroom. Recording me.”
“What the fuck? A camera? Christ.”
“Just come home. Please. I need you.”
71
Alice left the spare bedroom after the call from Ian. There was no point in continuing to toss and turn with a million questions keeping her mind racing. The TV was on low in the kitchen, and Moore looked up when Alice walked in. “Hey Alice, how are you doing? Get any sleep?”
Alice shook her head. “Impossible.” She brewed coffee and made small talk with Moore while they waited for the sexual assault team to arrive.
Just before 8AM, a loud rapping on the front door interrupted them. Moore went out, then loud voices filled the hall. Someone barked orders and heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Two women walked into the kitchen. They smiled, and the taller one in the dark trouser suit and greyish hair with a long fringe introduced herself as DS Meera Kapoor. The other, DC Liz Manning, was younger, maybe mid-thirties, brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and dressed in jeans and sweater.
“Now Alice,” Kapoor said. “We need to talk. The SOCOs have gone upstairs. We’ll let them do their job while we talk. Would you be more comfortable in the lounge?”
Alice nodded and she led Kapoor and Manning into the front room. Kapoor sat beside Alice on the sofa, and Manning took the armchair.
“Liz will take notes while we talk,” Kapoor said. “I’ll be your officer in the case. You might hear some of my colleagues refer to the OIC. For now, I will also be your SOIT...”
Alice grimaced and rubbed her hands together.
Kapoor smiled at her. “Sorry. We like our acronyms. An SOIT officer is a sexual offence investigative technique officer. It’s usually a different person than the OIC, but with all the recent austerity cuts to the Met’s budget, we don't have as many officers available as we used to. However, I can assure you I have the
