I See You(65)

Melissa sits down in the chair previously occupied by DI Rampello, ignoring the dirty cups at the next table, and the never-decreasing queue at the counter. ‘What are they going to do about it?’

‘They’re getting me an alarm. It’ll be linked straight to their control room – in case I’m attacked.’

‘Fat lot of good that’ll do.’ She sees my panic and screws up her face, leaning forward to pull me into a hug. ‘Sorry. But when this place was broken into it was fifteen minutes before the Old Bill rocked up; the burglars were long gone. They’re a joke.’

‘So what do I do?’ There’s a note of hysteria in my voice and I take a deep breath. Try again. ‘What do I do, Melissa?’

‘Have they said what they’re doing to catch the people behind the website? That’s what’ll keep you safe, not some crappy alarm.’

‘They just said they’re working on it.’

‘They’re “working on it”? Jesus. And you’re supposed to be reassured by that, are you? A woman’s been murdered—’

‘Two women. At least.’

‘—and you’re supposed to just sit by and let them “work on it”? You need to find out exactly what they’re doing. Who they’re talking to, how they’re trying to trace this website.’

‘They won’t tell me, Melissa. I wasn’t even supposed to know how to get into the website. PC Swift implied she’d get into trouble if anyone found out she’d told me.’

‘You have a right to know how close they are to solving this. You pay their wages, don’t forget.’

‘I guess so.’ I imagine marching into the police station and demanding to see the investigation paperwork.

‘I could come with you to speak to them, if you want.’

I put my elbows on the table and press my face into my cupped hands for a second. ‘I’m out of my depth,’ I say, when I surface. I can feel the anxiety rising inside me, making my heart race. ‘I don’t know what to do, Melissa.’

‘You demand to know what the police are doing. Every lead they have. Every breakthrough.’

I don’t know if I’d find that reassuring or terrifying.

‘I feel as though everything’s out of my control. The adverts, Katie, even our finances. I used to be so on top of everything, and now …’

‘How much does Simon owe?’

‘He won’t tell me. But he’s been using credit cards since August. Every time he’s done the food shop, or paid a utility bill. Meals out, presents … it must be thousands, Melissa. He says he got us into this mess, and he’ll get us out of it.’

‘Well, if he won’t let you help it sounds as though you’re just going to have to trust him.’ She picks up DI Rampello’s empty espresso cup. I don’t tell her that right now I’m finding it hard to trust anyone at all.

It’s already 9 a.m. when I leave the café, but I decide to walk along the Embankment to work. The thought of taking the Underground – even a route that bears no relation to my commute on the website – makes my heart beat so fast I feel light-headed. I cross the Strand and head for Savoy Place, then I drop down to walk beside the river. I’m watching everyone. That man walking towards me, with his hands in his pockets: does he know about the website? Is he a member? The businessman talking on the phone, a scarf around his neck to keep out the cold: does he follow women? Rape them? Kill them?

My breath is fast and shallow, and I stand for a moment and stare at the river, trying to keep it under control. A dozen figures in wetsuits are taking paddleboard instruction from a lithe blonde wearing a bright pink all-in-one. They’re laughing, despite the cold. Beyond them, in the middle of the river, a pleasure cruise cuts a foamy channel through the grey Thames; a handful of early-bird tourists shivering on the deck.

Someone touches my arm.

‘You all right, there?’

I flinch as though I’ve been burned. The man is young; around Justin’s age, but in a suit and tie, and with the confidence that comes with a good education or a good job. Or both.

‘You looked like you were about to keel over.’

My heart is pounding so hard it hurts my ribcage, and I can’t find the words to tell him I’m fine. Not to touch me. Instead I step away from him. Shake my head. He holds up both his hands and exaggerates the wide berth he gives me before walking away.

‘Fucking loony.’

When he’s ten or more paces away he turns around and taps the side of his head twice with his index finger. Mad, he mouths, and I feel as though I am.

It’s almost ten before I reach the office. The walk has done me good, and although my feet ache I feel stronger; invigorated. Graham is talking to a woman wearing red high heels with a black trouser suit. She’s holding a sheaf of property particulars and Graham is telling her about the office on Eastern Avenue with the customer toilets and the newly refurbed kitchen area, perfect for staff breaks. I tune out the well-practised blurb as I slide behind my desk, knowing from the way Graham is bristling that he’s furious with me.

He starts the second the woman leaves, her reluctance to fix an immediate viewing serving to add to his outrage. ‘Good of you to drop in, Zoe.’

‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’