I See You(66)

‘But it is happening again, isn’t it? You’ve been late every morning lately.’

‘I’ve had to change the way I come to work – it’s hard to predict how long it will take.’

Graham doesn’t ask why. He’s not interested. ‘Then leave home earlier. You can’t just saunter in at nigh on ten o’clock without so much as an apology—’

I did apologise, but I’m not going to repeat it. ‘I was with the police.’ I half expect Graham to carry on as though I haven’t said anything, but he stops short.

‘Why? What’s happened?’

I hesitate, not sure how much I want this man to know. I think of the website, with its menu of women, and it occurs to me Graham Hallow is exactly the sort of man who would be drawn to the idea of an exclusive membership site. I’m in no doubt that if I tell him, he won’t be able to resist looking, and I feel protective of these women. I don’t want people looking at their photos; buying their commutes like they were nothing more than objects. And then … what? I’m finding it hard to reconcile what I know is happening: that women are being attacked – murdered – because their commutes have been sold. It’s grotesque; the stuff of science fiction.

‘I’m being followed,’ I say instead. It isn’t so far from the truth. I think I see concern in my boss’s face, but it’s so unfamiliar I’m not sure. ‘The police are going to give me a personal alarm.’

‘Do they know who’s doing it?’ The question is accusatory, barked in the manner of someone who doesn’t know how else to be.

‘No.’ And then, because I’ve been holding it in for days, I start to cry. Of all the people to cry in front of, I think, as Graham stands there, rooted to the spot. I hunt for a tissue in my pockets, eventually finding one tucked up my sleeve, and blow my nose hard, but I can’t stop the tears from coming. The release is making my chest heave, and I take gulps of air that come out in juddering cries. ‘I – I’m sorry,’ I manage to say, after several false starts. ‘It – it’s all a bit overwhelming.’

Graham is still standing by my desk, staring at me. Suddenly he strides to the door and I think for a second he’s going to walk out and leave me here sobbing at my desk. But he flicks the catch that locks the door, and flips over the sign that says ‘closed’, then he walks across to where we keep the tea things and switches on the kettle. I’m so surprised by this show of compassion that I stop crying, my sobs morphing into occasional hiccoughs. I blow my nose again.

‘I’m really sorry.’

‘You’re clearly under a lot of strain. How long has this been going on?’

I tell him as much as I can without mentioning the name of the website, or the way that it works. I tell him I’ve been followed for a while, and that the police are now linking my case with the murder of two women, and to attacks on several others.

‘What are the police doing about it?’

‘They’re sorting out the alarm for me. I had to give a statement this morning – that’s why I was late.’

Graham shakes his head, making the soft folds of flesh beneath his chin wobble. ‘It’s fine, don’t trouble yourself about that. Do they know who’s behind the attacks?’

I’m touched – and surprised – by how interested Graham is.

‘I don’t think so. They haven’t arrested anyone for Tania Beckett’s murder, yet, and the website is apparently untraceable.’ Graham is thinking. ‘I’m out at meetings all day. I was planning to go home straight from my five p.m., but if you don’t mind staying slightly later than usual I’ll swing by and give you a lift home.’ Graham comes in from Essex every day. He mostly takes the train, but occasionally he drives, leaving his car in a ludicrously expensive car park round the corner from the office.

‘It’s miles out of your way! Really, I’m fine. I’m going to go home a different way, and I can get Justin to meet me at Crystal Palace—’

‘I’m taking you home,’ Graham says firmly. ‘I can go on to Sevenoaks to see my brother and his wife. To be frank, I’m surprised that bloke of yours isn’t coming to get you.’

‘I don’t want to worry him.’

Graham looks at me curiously. ‘You haven’t told him?’

‘He knows about the website, but not … I haven’t told him I’m in danger. Things are a bit difficult at the moment.’ I see Graham’s face and explain before he gets the wrong end of the stick. ‘Simon’s lost his job. Redundancy. So it’s not a great time. I don’t want to give him any more reason to worry.’

‘Right, well, I’m taking you home tonight, and that’s the end of it.’ Graham looks satisfied. If he were a caveman he’d be beating his chest.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

Half an hour later Graham goes to his meeting. ‘Keep the door locked,’ he tells me, ‘until you’ve seen who they are.’

The office door is glass, as is the entire front of the shop, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to assess whether a man standing outside is here to rape and kill me, or to enquire about the mobile phone shop that’s closing down on Lombard Street. ‘The whole place is covered by CCTV anyway,’ he says. I’m so surprised by this parting shot I don’t point out that having my attack on film will be of little comfort to me when I’m dead.