‘Pencils? Maybe? I don’t know. Sorry, Nas.’ Freddie handed the blown-up photo to her. It felt important, but she couldn’t work out what it was. Couldn’t see it. She rubbed her gritty eyes. It was twenty to midnight. Nine hours and fifty minutes left. They were into single figures. Nearly into the next day. Deadline day.
‘Worth a shot,’ Nas said. ‘We’re narrowing it down. The info you got from the smartwatch tells us which direction they were headed in. We know we’re looking for a building. Small. Disused by the looks of it, and Green’s working through the names she has on the list. The net’s closing in.’
Freddie looked at the time on her phone. But would it be quick enough?
‘I’m gonna take a break and grab a coffee. Do you want me to grab you one?’
‘Please,’ Freddie said. Her body was dog tired. Nas must be exhausted – she was doing all this on a hangover. ‘Do you want to grab a few minutes kip?’ She’d seen a couple of the officers curled up on chairs, under jackets. But she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t just lie down and go to sleep while Lottie was out there, her life ticking away. Saunders and Chips showed no sign of stopping, and she doubted Nas would either, but she had to ask.
‘I’ll stretch my legs and I’ll feel better,’ said Nas, picking her jacket back up.
‘You okay if I use your laptop?’ she asked. They were in a weird, standoffish place since they’d had their heart to heart in the toilets. Struggling to fit back into – what? The normal routine? She wondered if all female friendships were like this. Just as complex as those between romantic partners, with moods and rhythms, moments where you pulled together and moments when you fell apart. Apart from her relationship with her parents, Nas was by far the most continuous presence in Freddie’s life. They’d even weathered an eight-year ‘break’, after Gemma tried to kill herself and Nas had been homeschooled. But where there were countless articles on romantic relationship dos and don’ts, and how-to dating guides, there was nothing on friendships. They had so much history it dominated every space they stood in. Nas made her who she was. Freddie would go to the ends of the earth for her. She’d do more for Nas than she would for any man, regardless of how long she’d been shagging him. But she didn’t know if Nas felt the same. Or if it even mattered.
She typed in the address of Cynthia Warner’s blog and read the Alex Black page. It gave details of Are You Awake and what to do if photos of you were shared on it. The page also documented posts by Alex Black across the internet. It read like she was amassing a case file: compiling evidence. She leant towards the computer, feeling hope lift inside her. There was a huge amount of detailed work in here. It included a plea for more information.
Freddie clicked back to Are You Awake and typed in ‘Cynthia Warner’. Was she a victim herself? A number of hits appeared. No skin shots, but photos of what she assumed was Cynthia Warner’s face photoshopped onto images of Jabba the Hutt, hippopotamuses, slugs. There was a theme. There was also a link back to an MRA site, and an article called ‘Is Feminism Making Women Fat?’ which contained references to Cynthia Warner. Was it so personal because Cynthia was getting close? Her stomach fluttered in excitement: this woman could be the key to finding Alex Black.
Nas walked back in, holding two mugs. ‘You need to look at this. We should speak to this woman. She’s been monitoring Black for months. She might be able to identify him.’
‘Agreed,’ Nas said. ‘I’ll run it past Saunders and go call her.’
Freddie moved between Cynthia’s site and Are You Awake. Nas hadn’t mentioned the possibility of speaking to Apollyon since they’d been back. Everything had moved so quickly, had she just forgotten? The thought of her friend talking to that monster set her teeth on edge. Her chest compressed. There had to be another way. If they could trace Alex Black through this woman, Cynthia, then they could find Lottie. If there was a link, if the Hashtag Murderer was orchestrating this somehow, let them worry about it later. Let someone else talk to him. But the more she tried to reason with herself, the more she felt his grip, tightening over her ribs. Closing over her mouth. She shook herself. She had to stop this. She was tired: it was playing tricks on her mind.
The building had grown quiet over the last few hours. The majority of the workers had gone home. Where was that for her? Her parents’ house, steeped in its misery? Somewhere she had yet to find? She didn’t know anymore.
Nas leant into the room, making her jump. ‘Cynthia Warner’s on her way in. She’s based in London. A squad car’s picking her up from Islington.’
Freddie nodded. Took a moment to hope, pray, that this woman would hold the answer. That she would lead them to Lottie. Opening her eyes, she saw the steady stream of new comments on Are You Awake. Each sentence a line of hate. Each word a slap. It was time to stem the flow.