Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) (18 page)

Kim hung the plaque back on the door. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the bedside table, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She sat down on the bed.

“Did he say that to her face?”

“No, Patrick would never do that.”

“Did he know about her ambition to play in the Royal Opera House Orchestra?”

“What?” her voice raised an octave with incredulity. “You think Patrick killed Anna?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, Kim,” said Jenny calmly. “But someone who knows a lot about her did this. I’m just trying to understand who might have known her dreams.”

“Well, she wouldn’t have told Patrick. They’re just about civil to each other and that’s only for my benefit. They’re hardly going to share their hopes and dreams with each other.”

“Could you have told him about it?”

“Why are you fixating on Patrick? There’s loads of people out there who might have known her ambitions.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know, do I?” she said sharply. “She could have written it on Facebook for all we know.”

Jenny hadn’t thought of that. She made a mental note to ask Harry O’Reilly to check it out.

Kim continued. “And there’s her lecturers, music teachers, other students on her course. Friends. Family. Could be anyone.” She paused and then finished, “And no, I didn’t tell Patrick.”

“Did she keep a diary?”

“Not that I know of.”

Jenny pinched her lips together and decided to change tack. “When did Anna last discuss her hopes about the Royal Opera House with you?”

Kim cocked her head to one side, as if deciding whether to take affront. She let it pass and answered plainly, “I think the last time was about a month ago. We were at the bottom of a second bottle of wine. Cheap night in. And we got onto the subject of life after college. I think it was because we were being forced to take career advice at Trinity at the time.”

“Did she specifically mention the Royal Opera House that night?”

“I guess so. But more as an example.”

“Where were the other housemates?”

“I think they were around but in their rooms. Joanne would have been asleep. It was well after midnight, after all.” She smiled at her use of Anna’s joke. “Denise was in and out of the kitchen as always. Don’t know about Polly. She might have been out.”

Jenny pointed at the mantelpiece. “I like the photo of the two of you.”

Kim studied it, as if seeing it for the first time. She stood and picked it up, then winced and swapped the picture to her uninjured hand. 

“Yeah, that was a cracking day out. It was last year, just before my birthday. We decided to be tourists in London. Did all the sights. I’ve got one framed in my room, as well. The two of us with a Beefeater, outside the Tower of London.”

She put the photo back in its place.

“Can we go downstairs? I feel weird being in Anna’s room.”

“Of course.”

In the kitchen, they sat at the table. Jenny asked background questions about Anna. Kim answered them obligingly, happy to talk about her friend. 

Anna was originally from Torquay. Her mother was a music teacher in the local secondary school. Her father left them when she was eight, migrating to Canada. Anna had never said much about him. Her stepdad ran a second hand car dealership in Devon somewhere. Two younger stepbrothers, both still in primary school. No problems at home, at least none she’d ever mentioned. Anna had always been happy to go back to Devon in the term breaks. 

“Anyone ever come up and visit from Devon?”

“Other than her mum and stepdad, no.”

“What about boyfriends from back then?”

“She said she’d had a few, but nothing really serious.”

“What were her relationships like at Uni?

“Pretty good. She was popular with other students as well as the lecturers.”

“You mentioned earlier today about the recent string of one-night stands . . . ” Jenny paused, waiting to see if there was a reaction. Kim nodded slowly. “ . . . Any lecturers?”

She thought for a second. “I don’t know all the lecturers at the college and, don’t forget, we did different courses. But I don’t think so.”

“You last saw her on Friday morning when you left for college?”

“Yes.”

Jenny felt awkward but asked anyway. “What did you do the rest of the day?” 

Kim sat upright, bristling at the question. “So now I’m a suspect too, am I?”

“I have to ask — for elimination purposes.”

“You must see some really twisted stuff to always look for the worst in people.” She caught her breath and then, like it was an intrinsic proof, blurted out, “
I was her best friend
!” 

Kim stood, opened the fridge and pulled out a wine bottle. She held it up to the light. It was white wine and just under half full. 

“I think I need a drink.” 

She pulled two large goblets from a cupboard and poured wine into both. She placed one in front of Jenny as if laying down a challenge and sat back down opposite her. 

“I went to college.” She gulped a mouthful and continued. “We were rehearsing like mad on Friday, as we had the opening night the next evening. We’re doing a production of
La Bayadère
.” She saw the frown on Jenny’s face. “It’s a ballet. We spent most of the day at it. And the evening. I think I left there about 9:30, maybe 10:00 p.m. When I got home, the house was empty. I was dying to hear about Anna’s audition. I Facebooked her to ask how it went, but she didn’t reply. I just assumed she’d gone out with someone.”

“How was the show?”

“It was brill. Really went well. The audience loved it. We did it last night and tonight, as well. That’s where I was just now. Wasn’t as good tonight though, I think the news about Anna has dampened everyone’s mood. Even though some people don’t know her, she’s from our college. We’ve got two more performances to go. Tomorrow night, then a break for a few days and then the finale on Saturday. We all said we’d put more energy into it tomorrow. For her.”

Jenny took a small sip of her wine. She wouldn’t drink it all — she was driving — but she really wanted to. Looking over the rim of her glass, she asked, “And Patrick? Where was he on Friday?”

Kim sighed to make obvious her exasperation, but answered anyway. “He came round when I got home and stayed over.”

“And before that?”

“He was working.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“Actually, he’s doing a Computer Science degree at Imperial College. But he’s taking a gap year, working for a TV channel. Channel 4 or 5, can’t remember which one. Something to do with upgrading their online catch-up service.”

“Must pay well. Young guy like that driving a Porsche.”

“He’s set up an online business to get him through Uni so that he doesn’t come out with a load of debt, like the rest of us.”

“What kind of businesses?”

“I’ve no idea, really. Something to do with making money from adverts on websites. What’s the word . . .
click-throughs
, that’s it. Apparently that’s how you make money on the Internet. All I know about the Internet is Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Google and Flickr.”

“That’s way more than me,” said Jenny. “Someone set Facebook up for me once but I’ve forgotten the password.”

Kim smirked sympathetically. “I don’t know how you can live without them.”

“Okay. Give me an example of what I’m missing out on?”

Kim thought for a second. “How about this? I met Anna on Facebook before I met her in person.” She gave Jenny a smug nod and sipped her wine.

Jenny tried to work it through in her head. 

Kim explained. “Once I knew I was accepted at Trinity Laban and which halls of residence I was in, I jumped on the online student forums to find other people in the same halls. I found Anna, we connected on Facebook and got to know each other ahead of college. We were already close before showing up on the first day.” 

Jenny was impressed and told Kim so. Finally, a practical use for social media that had nothing to do with telling the world every inane little thing you’ve ever thought or done. 

“I was quite a shy person back then. Getting to know Anna beforehand made settling in here much easier.”

“Not so shy anymore, then?”

“Not really. Between Anna and the dance degree, I’ve been dragged out of my shell.”

Jenny and Kim carried on talking for another hour. It had long stopped being a subtle interrogation into a victim’s life before her death and had simply become a conversation between two acquaintances, sharing titbits of their lives with each over a large glass of wine. Despite the twelve-year age gap between them, Jenny felt she’d connected with Kim. 

And perhaps, through her, to Anna.

* * *

Derek Saxton withstood the initial jolt from the bitterly cold water cascading down his sweaty body. He forced his head under the showerhead. A loud involuntary shiver escaped his lips, but he stood there steadfastly. His body temperature cooled and the water temperature became bearable. 

His workout had been tough going; each fitness machine defeating him more quickly than the last, each set becoming slower and, towards the end, with fewer reps. After only fifteen minutes on the bike, he gave up cardio and skipped the rowing completely. He managed a proper warm-down, knowing that he’d ache like hell otherwise.

Normally, he would steer clear of the gym after drinking in the afternoon. Especially when the couple of glasses of wine accompanying lunch had turned into an extended champagne celebration. For an Olympic medal-winning boxer, highly attuned to the nuances of his body’s metabolism, his newly-signed client could really pack the bubbly away. Saxton made a note to ensure Aguda kept well away from alcohol going forward. The last thing Saxton needed was to find Aguda plastered all over the pavement — and the newspapers — in the run-up to his first professional fight.

Although gym and alcohol didn’t mix, he’d needed to kill time ahead of his secret rendezvous this evening. 

Jude had left the office at six. She and ‘Her George’ were off to the cinema — cheap tickets on a Monday night, apparently — to see a French art-house flick he’d never heard of nor likely ever see. What the hell were a secretary and a window cleaner doing watching foreign movies, subtitles and all? She had been suspicious that Saxton was staying back. As far as she knew, there was nothing in the diary that required him to stay late. The cheeky cow shrugged sceptically when he gave the excuse that he had loads of work to catch up on. 

Saxton dried himself with a towel, doused his body all over with aromatic body spray and put back on the silky black shirt and the sharp grey suit he had worn all day. He admired what he saw in the mirror. Still the right shape for an outside centre. Tall, broad shoulders, plenty of muscle and, best of all, no beer belly. Well, not yet anyway. It was a shame his knee was completely knackered, or he’d probably still be playing professionally. He missed the game sometimes, although he had to admit that rugby had changed as a sport over the last few years, ever since Jonny Wilkinson slotted that drop goal to secure England’s Rugby World Cup win in 2003. He wasn’t sure he was cut out for the modern style of professionalism. All muscles and speed rather than brains and talent. And, worst of all, no partying in-between matches — what was the point?

Ten minutes later he was outside his office building, searching through his coat pockets for his pass with one hand while trying to hold up the umbrella with the other. Watford’s streets were quiet this time of the evening, especially in the rain. And Monday was always subdued, not like the weekend when the centre became a rabble of teenage kids out on the town, drifting from pub to club, cider bottles strewn behind them, puke left in the gutters like dogs marking territory, and police watching on nonchalantly, occasionally picking off the odd reveller separated from the pack. 

 Saxton waved his photo-pass to unlock the front door and entered the building. He shook off his brolly and coat. The night security guard, young and podgy with huge bags under his eyes, looked up from his newspaper. He was certainly no sportsman, unless sumo was making a new splash locally.

Saxton said, “Hi, mate. I’m expecting a visitor in about ten minutes. Can you let her in and ring me on extension 2820?”

“Sure will, boss. 2820.” The guard wrote the number on the top of his newspaper.

Saxton took the lift up three floors, feeling justified after the workout. And anyway, he didn’t want to work up another sweat in his suit.

Checking his reflection in the lift doors, he smiled, reflecting on the day that had started so well.

Signing up Aguda earlier that afternoon had been just the kind of boost Saxton’s business needed. Especially after losing two Premiership footballers to rival sports agents last month. He probably should have issued a press release immediately following today’s lunch, but he’d been rather inebriated. And anyway, he’d had his private webcam session with Audri. She really was a lot of fun. Completely uninhibited and up for anything. How did eighteen-year old girls become so worldly-wise so fast? It wasn’t like that when he was her age. 

It was a shame he’d have to end it. 

The lift doors opened, splitting his smiling reflection in two. 

He unlocked his office and pushed through the door. The lights came on automatically. He realised he was actually a little nervous about the next hour. Perhaps he should have a quick medicinal scotch before his guest arrived, just to calm his nerves.

As he poured the whisky from the crystal decanter, the phone rang. She had arrived. He took a quick sip, savouring the burning feeling as it flowed down his throat, and answered the phone.

* * *

“Mr Saxton’s sending someone down for you.” The security guard hooked the telephone handset back on its base. 

Self-consciously, Audri tightened the belt on her red rain mac even more. Someone else? What the hell was Derek playing at? 

“Cats and dogs out there, eh,” said the guard, handing her a see-through plastic badge with her name written on the paper placed inside. She shoved it in her coat pocket. 

Audri looked back through the glass doors, but there were no animals.