I See You(71)

Colour floods my face. ‘I – I’m sorry.’ Sleep has left me confused. ‘I thought …’ I try and form the words, ‘I thought you were …’ I can’t say it, but I don’t need to. Graham turns the ignition key, the roar of the engine putting a full stop to our conversation. I get out of the car and shiver; the temperature fifteen degrees lower than inside. ‘Thank you for the lift. And I’m sorry I thought—’

He drives off, leaving me standing on the pavement.





With findtheone.com there are no blind-date nerves, there’s no stilted conversation over dinner. I’d argue it’s more honest than most online dating sites, with their air-brushed photos and their profiles full of lies. Salary range, hobbies, favourite foods … all irrelevant. Who builds a relationship on a mutual love of tapas? A match might be perfect on paper, yet lack the spark needed to set it alight.

findtheone.com cuts through all that rubbish; the pretence that anyone cares if you like opera or walks in the park. It means men can take their time. They can follow you for a while, engage you in conversation; see if you’re interesting enough to take for dinner, instead of wasting their time on a garrulous air-head. It means men can get up close and personal. Smell your perfume; your breath; your skin. Feel a spark. Act on it.

Are you wondering who my clients are? Who would use a website like this? Are you thinking the market can’t possibly be big enough?

I can assure you it is.

My customers come from all walks of life. They’re men with no time to form relationships. Men with enough money not to care. Men who haven’t found that ‘special someone’; men who get their kicks from being in control. Everyone has their own reason for joining findtheone.com; it isn’t my job to care what it is.

So who are these men?

They’re your friends. They’re your father, your brother, your best friend, your neighbour, your boss. They’re the people you see every day; the people you travel to and from work with.

You’re shocked. You think you know them better than that.

You’re wrong.





23


‘Is this your vehicle?’ Kelly pushed a photograph of a black Lexus across the table. Gordon Tillman nodded. ‘For the benefit of the tape, the suspect is nodding his head.’ Kelly looked at Tillman, less confident now his flashy suit had been exchanged for a grey custody-issue tracksuit, but still arrogant enough to try and out-stare his interviewers. His date of birth put him at forty-seven, but he looked ten years older; his skin mottled by years of excess. Drugs? Or drink? Drink and women. Late nights spent flashing the cash to attract girls who wouldn’t otherwise give him a second glance. Kelly tried to keep the look of disgust off her face.

‘Were you driving it at approximately quarter to nine yesterday morning?’

‘You know I was.’ Tillman was relaxed, his arms folded across his chest as he answered Kelly’s questions. He hadn’t asked for a solicitor, and Kelly hadn’t yet worked out how the interview was going to go. Full admission? It was looking that way, and yet … there was something in Tillman’s eyes that suggested it wasn’t going to be quite that easy. She had a sudden memory of another interview room – a different suspect; the same crime – and she clenched her fists tightly beneath the table. It had been a one-off. He’d pressed her buttons but she was younger then, less experienced. It wouldn’t happen again.

But sweat trickled down her spine, nevertheless, and she had to fight to keep focus. It had never come back to her; the words whispered in her ear. The words that had tipped her over the edge and caused the red mist to descend so completely that she lost control.

‘Could you tell me, in your own words, what happened between half past eight and ten o’clock yesterday?’

‘I was returning from a conference I’d been to the night before. There was a dinner afterwards and I stayed the night in Maidstone so I was about to head back to Oxfordshire. I was going to work from home for the rest of the day.’

‘Where do you work?’

Tillman looked at her, letting his eyes flick briefly, but very deliberately, down to her chest before he answered. Kelly felt, rather than saw, Nick lean forward in his chair. She willed him not to speak. She didn’t want to give Tillman the satisfaction of knowing she’d even noticed where his gaze fell.

‘In the City. I’m a wealth manager for NCJ Investors.’

Kelly hadn’t been surprised when the DI had told her he’d be sitting in on the interview. She had begged him to let her interview Tillman, reminding him of how hard she’d worked on the case, and how badly she wanted to be there at the finish. He had taken for ever to reply.

‘Okay. But I’ll be there too.’

Kelly had nodded.

‘You’re too inexperienced to lead this alone, and there’ll be a few noses out of joint in the office as it is.’

The other reason lay unspoken between them. He didn’t trust Kelly not to lose it. How could she blame him? She didn’t trust herself.

She had been suspended instantly, the threat of criminal proceedings running alongside the internal disciplinary.

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ Diggers had said, when Kelly had been hauled out of custody, her shirt ripped and a bruise forming on the side of her face where the suspect had fought back. She was shaking violently, the adrenaline leaving her body as quickly as it had arrived.