25

The homicide team’s offices felt like a late opening library where only the studious remained. There was so little movement that the lights were out in the corridors and flickered on only as Sarah passed along. Nearly everyone was out, tasked with urgent inquiries relating to the video that had been uploaded to YouTube. Those who remained worked silently at their desks. Lee was alone in the major incident room. He pointed her in the direction of a stand-alone computer, and when she clicked on the link, he got up and stood beside her while she watched.

The video already had nearly eight thousand hits. Mark Brannon was sitting in front of a white wall in an armchair over which he had draped a white sheet. His demeanour crazily suggested the pre-interview anxiety of a candidate who had insufficiently prepared but was hoping against the odds to get a job he wanted too badly. He wore an ironed buttoned shirt but was unshaven, and his hands rested on the arms of the chair as if they had been strapped there. The dog, Candy, was lying by his side.

Georgie was my perfect woman. All I ever wanted was for us to be together . . .

Lee said, ‘Twitter’s going crazy.’

‘Are we getting YouTube to take this down?’ Sarah asked without taking her eyes off the screen.

‘The boss is working on it.’

Tears were pouring down Brannon’s face. The dog shifted position.

I had a family. I had love. I had everything. If it wasn’t for the police, Georgie would still be alive.

‘Self-pitying bastard,’ Lee said.

‘Any ISP address for where it was uploaded?’

I never wanted to hurt Georgie, but what could I do? She was leaving, taking Skye with her. I couldn’t let her do that.

Lee said, ‘It’s an internet café. We’ve got officers down there doing a CCTV trawl.’

Brannon had broken down completely. He was sobbing, holding the shaved dome of his head. Then he seemed to tire of that. He looked up, wiped his hand across his nose and sniffed, used the heel of his hands to wipe the tears from his face. He gathered himself. His piercing blue eyes looked directly at the camera.

I’m being really clear now. I’m warning you. Skye is all I’ve got left. I’ll never let you take her from me. Don’t come near us.

‘The shrinks are warning about murder-suicide apparently,’ Lee said. ‘The boss is very worried for Skye.’ His phone pinged and he checked it and swore. ‘Fucking useless.’

He showed Sarah the screen of his phone. It was a WhatsApp with a CCTV grab from the internet café where the video had been uploaded: a man with his hood pulled down. No facial image at all, but the man was too tall and thin for Brannon.

Sarah said, ‘So he’s getting help but we don’t know from whom.’

She glanced back at the screen. There was a hint now of a terrorist video: Brannon’s tear-stained face looked so certain, so determined.

This isn’t the end of it. This isn’t going to end here.

The title of the automatically loading next video played – a true-crime clip called ‘Crocodile Tears’ – and a banner advert ran underneath for a West End musical. Sarah closed the internet window, her mind tracking the video for evidence. Although she’d been told to concentrate on Tania, every instinct she had cried out to find Skye.