I See You by Clare Mackintosh
Lexi made a small sound; a stifled cry from the back of her throat. ‘Don’t, Kelly, please. I don’t want to—’
She sounded so distraught Kelly almost stopped, hating the fact she was hurting Lexi. But she had already waited too long to say it. ‘Just hear me out, and then I promise you I won’t ever mention it again.’ She took Lexi’s silence as acceptance. ‘I’m sorry I hung up on you. You were frightened and I wasn’t there for you, and there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t feel guilty about it.’
The line was so quiet Kelly thought Lexi had put down the phone, but finally she spoke.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Kelly.’
‘But if I’d only—’
‘It wasn’t your fault for hanging up, and it wasn’t my fault for walking by the woods on my own. I don’t blame you, and I don’t blame the police.’
‘They should have taken your earlier reports more seriously.’
‘Kelly, the only reason I was raped that night is because one man decided that’s what he was going to do. I don’t know if he’d ever done it before, or if he’s done it since, and rightly or wrongly I don’t care. It was one night – one hour – of my life, and I’ve had thousands more that have been filled with light and happiness and joy.’ On cue, Kelly heard her nephews laughing in the background; infectious, uncontrollable giggles that made her heart lift. ‘It was no one else’s fault, Kelly.’
‘Okay.’ Kelly couldn’t say more, for fear of bursting into tears. She wished now she’d called Lexi from her mobile, instead of being tethered to her desk where everyone could see her. She closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. In the background, Fergus and Alfie continued to play, the giggles now interspersed with indignant shouts over the ownership of some toy or other. In her head, Kelly could see Lexi standing in the kitchen, the boys still full of energy despite a full day at school and nursery, scattering Lego bricks around her feet. Nothing about Lexi’s life was defined by her past; she lived in the moment. It was time for Kelly to do the same. She pulled herself together, and they both spoke at the same time.
‘What do you think I should wear?’
‘What are you going to wear to the reunion?’
Kelly smiled, remembering the times they would finish each other’s sentences at school. Lexi used to claim they had special twin powers, but really it was simply that they spent so much time together. The very best of friends.
‘I have to go, actually,’ Kelly said, catching sight of Nick repeating his earlier coffee-drinking mime. ‘I’ve got to go into a meeting. Let me know how it goes. And whether Gemma eats something other than sausages nowadays.’
Lexi laughed. ‘Thank you for calling. I do love you, you know.’
‘I love you, too.’
Kelly walked backwards into the briefing room, pushing the door open with her bottom and trying not to drop the tray, which was bent and wobbled ominously with every step she took. ‘We’re low on teabags, Lucinda, so I’ve done one of your herbal things, is that all right?’ There was no reaction from the analyst; in fact, no one looked up at all. ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ Kelly said.
‘Cyber Crime have just received notification of a new profile,’ Nick said. He shifted his chair to make space for her, and Andrew Robinson gestured towards the laptop in front of him.
‘After Nick’s membership was rescinded we set up a new account, as per his instructions,’ Andrew said. ‘Fifteen minutes ago I received this.’
The email was brief; a line of text at the top, beside a thumbnail photograph of a blonde woman.
Brand-new download: FREE today only.
‘Have any of the others been free?’ Kelly asked.
‘Only to Platinum members. None of the profiles have ever been priced at less than £200, and this is the first time we’ve been notified of a new listing. As far as we knew, the only notification came from the adverts in the Gazette.’
Kelly read the profile.
White.
18 years old. Long blonde hair, blue eyes.
Blue jeans, grey ankle boots, black V-neck T-shirt with oversized belted grey cardigan. White knee-length puffa coat, also belted. Black handbag with gilt chain.
Size 8–10.
1530: Enters Crystal Palace Tube station. Takes Overground train to Canada Water, choosing the first carriage and sitting by the doors. Changes to the Jubilee line, walking down the platform to stand next to the Tube map, where the doors to carriage #6 will open. Sits and reads a magazine. Changes at Waterloo, turning right and going down the steps to Platform 1; northbound Northern line. Walks down the platform to stand in the middle, near a worn section of the yellow line. The central carriage opens directly opposite this. Stands by the doors until Leicester Square. Takes the escalators, then leaves via exit three on to Charing Cross Road.
Availability: TODAY ONLY.
Duration: 45 minutes
Difficulty level: extremely challenging
‘It’s gone out to all members,’ Andrew said, moving his cursor to the address box, where the ‘to’ box said exactly that. There was a pause, as everyone considered the significance of findtheone’s entire membership list – however large that might be – clicking on this woman’s profile and downloading her commute. How many men would already be sitting in front of their computers, or looking at their phones, reading exactly what Kelly had just read? And on reading it, knowing she would be making her way through London, unaware she was being watched, how many would take that a step further?
‘Can you make that photo any bigger?’ Kelly asked. Andrew obliged, filling the screen with an enlarged version of the thumbnail they had just seen. The photo was a selfie, the teenager pouting at the camera; masses of streaked blonde hair half over her eyes. The soft-focus filter suggested it had been taken from Instagram, or been doctored for some other social media site.
The photo was new to Kelly, but the girl wasn’t. A different photo, given to Kelly as the example from which a smaller image had been cropped. Kelly had read every inch of the Operation FURNISS file. She knew she’d seen this girl before. The same blonde hair, the same pouty expression.
She turned to look at Nick. ‘I recognise her. This is Zoe Walker’s daughter.’
35
‘What sort of game?’ I say. Melissa smiles. She is still sitting at her desk, spinning the chair so she can face us. She looks at the computer screen.
‘More than a hundred hits already.’ She looks at Katie. ‘You’re a popular girl.’
My stomach lurches. ‘You’re not putting her on that website.’
‘She’s already on there.’ Melissa clicks again, and I see Katie’s photo on the screen, pouting at us with a careless confidence in stark contrast to our current situation. Katie cries out and I put my arm around her, pulling her towards me so fiercely her chair scrapes across the floor.
‘So here’s how it will work.’ Melissa is using her business voice; the one she adopts when she’s on the phone to suppliers, or cajoling the bank manager into yet another loan. I’ve never heard her use it with me before, and it makes my blood run cold. ‘I’ve made Katie’s profile free to download for a limited period, and I’ve sent the link to all members.’
There’s another ping from the computer; a notification box appears, then another and another.
Downloaded.
Downloaded.
Downloaded.
‘As you can tell, they’re quick off the mark. Hardly surprising, when you think they’re usually paying up to five hundred quid for someone far less …’ she takes time choosing the right word, finally settling on one that makes me sick to my stomach, ‘enticing.’
‘She’s not going anywhere.’
‘Oh, come on, now. Where’s your sense of adventure? Not all my clients have nefarious aims, you know. Some of them are really rather romantic.’
‘She’s not going.’
‘Then I’m afraid it’s going to end very badly for both of you.’
‘
She ignores my question. ‘Here are the rules. Katie follows her normal commute, and if she gets to the restaurant without any … shall we say interruptions … then you win and I let you go. If she doesn’t … well, you both lose.’
‘That’s sick,’ Katie says.
Melissa looks at her, a sneer on her face. ‘Oh, come on, Katie, it’s not like you to pass up the opportunity to be in the limelight.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘This is your chance to be star of the show. We all know you’re not happy unless you’re the centre of attention. Never mind that Justin might have wanted a chance, or one of your friends. It always has to be about you, doesn’t it? Like mother, like daughter.’
I’m stunned by the hatred in her voice. Katie is crying, as shocked as I am.
‘So,’ Melissa says, ‘that’s the game. Ready to play? Or would you rather skip straight to the part where you both lose?’ She tests the blade of the knife on her thumbnail, where it’s too sharp to slide smoothly across the red lacquer Melissa always wears.
‘You’re not using my daughter as bait for a bunch of sick men. I’d rather die.’
Melissa shrugs. ‘Your call.’ She stands up and walks towards me, the knife held out in front of her.
‘No!’ Katie screams. She clings to me, tears streaming down her face. ‘I’ll do it, I’ll go – I won’t let her hurt you.’
‘Katie, I’m not letting you do it. You’ll get hurt.’
‘And if I don’t, we both will! Don’t you understand? She’s mad!’
I glance at Melissa but she seems entirely unperturbed by Katie’s accusation. There’s no sign of agitation, or of anger, which makes her actions even more terrifying. She would push that knife into me, I realise, and not even break into a sweat. I’m struggling to accept that the woman I thought was my friend – the woman I thought I knew – is someone else entirely. Someone who hates me. Who resents me so deeply for being a mother that she’s prepared to hurt me; to hurt my daughter.
Katie squeezes my shoulder. ‘I can do this, Mum. The Tube will be busy – there’ll be people everywhere – no one’s going to hurt me.’
‘But, Katie, they have been hurt! Women have been murdered. Raped! You can’t go.’ Even as I say it, I’m thinking of the alternative. If Katie stays here, what will happen to her? I’m in no doubt now that Melissa is going to kill me, but I won’t let her kill Katie too.
‘The other women didn’t know they were being watched. I do. I’ll have the advantage. And I know that route, Mum. I’ll know if someone’s following me.’
‘No, Katie.’
‘I can do this. I want to do it.’ She’s not crying any more; her face is set with a determination I know so well I catch my breath. She thinks she’s saving me. She really thinks she can play this game – that she can cross London without being caught – and that winning the game means Melissa will spare me.
She’s wrong – Melissa won’t let me go – but in trying to save me, I can save Katie. Out there, she has a fighting chance. In here, we’re already dead.
‘Okay,’ I tell her. It feels like a betrayal.
She stands up and looks at Melissa. Her chin juts out defiantly, and for a second I’m reminded of her character in the play, hiding her identity behind boy’s clothing and clever words. If Katie’s scared, she isn’t showing it.
‘What do I have to do?’
‘You just have to go to work. Nothing simpler. You’ll leave in,’ she checks the computer screen, ‘five minutes, and you’ll follow your usual route to the restaurant. You’ll give me your phone, you won’t stop, or change your routine, and you won’t do anything stupid like call for help or try to contact the police.’
Katie hands over her mobile. Melissa walks to her desk and presses a series of keys. The computer screen switches to a colour CCTV image I recognise; it’s looking out of Crystal Palace Tube station. I can see the taxi rank to the left, and the graffiti on the wall that’s been there for as long as I can remember. As we watch, a woman hurries into the station, checking her watch.
‘Step out of line,’ Melissa continues, ‘and I’ll know. And it doesn’t take a genius to work out what will happen to your mother.’
Katie bites her lip.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ I say softly.
She tosses her hair. ‘It’s fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to me, Mum. Or you.’ She has a look of grim determination in her eyes, but I know her too well to believe she feels as confident as she looks. She’s playing a part, but this isn’t a play. It isn’t a game, whatever Melissa calls it. Whatever happens, someone’s going to get hurt.
‘Time to go,’ Melissa says.
I hug Katie so tightly it forces the air from my lungs. ‘Be careful.’ I must have said the same thing thousands of times since becoming a mother, each time a shortcut for something more.
‘Be careful,’ when she was ten months old and cruising the furniture. Don’t break anything, I really meant, Watch that vase.
‘Be careful,’ when she learned to ride her bike. Watch out for cars, I could have said.
‘Be careful,’ the first time she got serious about a boyfriend. Don’t get hurt, I meant. Don’t get pregnant.
‘Be careful,’ I say now. Don’t let them catch you. Keep your eyes open. Be quicker than them. Run fast.
‘I will be. I love you, Mum.’
Pretend it’s a normal day, I tell myself, as tears well in my eyes. Pretend she’s just going to work, and that she’ll be home later and we’ll put Desperate Housewives on Netflix and eat pizza. Pretend this isn’t the last time you’ll ever see her. I’m crying openly now, and so is Katie, her temporary bravado too fragile to survive such an onslaught of emotion. I want to tell her to look out for Justin when I’m gone, to make sure Matt doesn’t let him go off the rails, but doing so would acknowledge what I don’t want in her head: that I won’t be here when she gets back. If she gets back.
‘I love you too.’
I take in every last detail of her: the way her hair smells; the smudge of lip gloss in the crease of her mouth. I fix her so firmly in my mind that whatever happens in the next hour I know it will be her face I see in my head when I die.
My baby girl.
‘Enough, now.’ Melissa opens the kitchen door and Katie walks along the narrow hall towards the front of the house. This is my chance, I think. I consider charging after Katie as the front door opens, pushing us both outside and running; running to safety. But although the knife hangs by Melissa’s side, she is gripping it so tightly her knuckles have whitened. She would use it in a heartbeat.
Knives.
I should have thought of it instantly. The knife block, now missing one resident, still contains a carving knife and three vegetable knives, in descending sizes. I hear the sound of a key in the lock and then, all too quickly, the door slams again and I’m assaulted by an image of Katie, walking towards the Tube station. Walking towards danger. Run away, I beg her silently. Go the opposite way. Find a phone box. Tell the police.
I know she won’t. She thinks Melissa will kill me if she doesn’t appear on that CCTV camera in precisely eight minutes.
I know she’ll kill me even if she does.
When Melissa returns I’m halfway between the table and the kitchen counter. She’s carrying something she must have picked up in the hall. A roll of duct tape.
‘Where are you going? Get over there.’ She gestures with the tip of the knife, and I need no further persuasion. Melissa moves my chair so it is facing her computer. I sit.
‘Put your hands behind your back.’
I comply, and hear the distinctive ripping sound of duct tape, torn off into strips. Melissa wraps a strip around my wrists, then pushes the tape around the wooden struts of the chair, so I can’t move my arms. She tears off two more strips and secures my ankles to the legs of the chair.
I watch the clock in the right-hand corner of the
Six minutes to go.
I’m comforted by the thought that Katie’s journey to work is on busy routes, and that it’s still light. There are no dark alleyways in which she could be trapped, and so surely if she keeps her wits about her, she will be okay. The women who have become victims – Tania Beckett, Laura Keen, Cathy Tanning – they didn’t know they were being targeted. Katie knows. Katie has the upper hand.
‘Ready for the show?’ Melissa says.
‘I’m not watching.’ But I find I can’t help myself. I have a sudden memory of taking Katie to hospital when she was a baby, and forcing myself to look while they put a cannula into her tiny hand, rehydrating her after a bad sickness bug. I wanted so badly to take it all away from her, but if I couldn’t do that, then the least I could do was carry the pain of seeing her suffer; live through it with her.
The score across the front of my neck has already started to scab over, and the tightness pulls at my skin and makes it itch. I stretch my neck in an attempt to relieve the feeling, releasing fresh blood that drips on to my lap.
Four minutes.
We watch the screen in silence. There’s so much I want to know, but I don’t want to hear Melissa’s voice. I indulge myself with a fantasy in which even now the police are speeding towards Anerley Road. Any moment now I’ll hear a crash as police officers break open the front door. It’s so real I strain to hear the police sirens. There is nothing there.
Two minutes.
It seems an eternity until we see Katie appear on the CCTV image. She doesn’t pause, but she looks up at the camera as she approaches, staring straight at us until she passes underneath the camera and out of view. I see you, I mouth. I’m with you. I can’t stop my tears falling.
‘We can’t follow her through the ticket barrier, unfortunately,’ Melissa’s tone is companionable – chatty, almost – as though we’re working on a project together. It’s unnerving, more so than if she were shouting at me, or threatening me. ‘But we’ll pick her up again once she’s on the platform.’