The route to the coffee shop where I’m due to meet Naomie involves a short Tube journey and a ten-minute walk. As I turn into the road where I’m expecting to find Espresso Express about halfway down on the left-hand side, I mentally pat myself on the back for actually managing to get myself here without missing my stop or walking into a lamppost. My head is so full of what I found in Jack’s attic that already I barely remember the journey, and I’m not sure how I’m going to stop myself blurting it out to his PA and asking her what she’s doing working for such a flaming psychopath. Obviously that would be a terrible idea and something I won’t do but… holy cow.
There were a dozen or so DVDs in the box; several were marked with Amber’s name, with various dates from throughout the period she and Jack were in a relationship, including the one dated last June, the month she was arrested. Could that one show what actually happened in his office that night? There were several too marked ‘R CAMPBELL’ – Rose – again with various dates, including November 2021, the month she died. That, I’m assuming – hoping – will be the video Nathan caught Jack watching that triggered his confession about what he did to her. And then, to my horror, there are several others, with dates going back a few years, and with names I didn’t recognise.
G BROWNING
A HART
S BAKER
Other women he filmed without their knowledge? There were none there with my name, but after what happened in the gym this morning, I suspect it will only be a matter of time before footage of me is copied onto a disc too, to be added to this sordid little stash. The thought makes me nauseous. The urge to pick up that box, stalk out of the attic with it and take it straight to the police, was almost impossible to resist. The thought of leaving them there for Jack to move and hide elsewhere or even to destroy, terrifies me. But it’s what I agreed with Nathan and Felicity. Leave everything where I find it, until I have all the evidence we need. The jewellery is still outstanding, and we still need to try to properly confirm the identity of the hacker, and of course find the attacker and the female accomplice… I know this, and yet, when I was safely out of the house an hour or so ago, I rang Felicity and begged her to change the plan; to let me steal the box; to end it now.
‘Those DVDs alone could be all we need,’ I said, as I marched to the station, my heart thudding, as breathless as if I’d just climbed ten flights of stairs. ‘If they really do show what Jack did to Rose and Amber… I mean, the dates fit… And what about all those other DVDs? It’ll be obvious they show women filmed without their consent. And I was amazed there was none with my name, but I’ll be starring in one of them any day now, you wait and see…’
I told her then about this morning, and she gasped, and told me with a shaky voice how terribly sorry she was that something like that had happened to me. But on the subject of taking the box to the police now, she was adamant.
‘It needs to be properly planned, not done on the spur of the moment. First of all, what if Jack catches you? I mean, you might get away with it. But what if he wakes up and there you are, striding down the corridor with all those DVDs on you? He could kill you, Heather. Or at least injure you very badly. I know we don’t think he’s physically hurt anyone so far, but who knows what he’d do to try to stop that evidence leaving his house? And then there’s the possibility that those DVDs are perfectly innocent, just general footage of those women maybe.
‘I know the dates on the Rose and Amber ones tally, and we know he definitely has – or had – one of the confrontation with Rose, but he may have edited it or even wiped it by now. Who knows? And we’re only guessing that he filmed what happened with Amber. We don’t know for sure what’s on that DVD. Look, I agree with you. I think what you’ve just found could be vital. It could be exactly what we need. It could be actual footage of him confessing. Maybe even footage of the stabbing. But we don’t know, do we, not until we can watch them? And if we take them now, and there’s nothing of any use on them, he’ll know they’re gone and that’s it. Our chance will be gone forever. They’re not enough on their own. We have to hold our nerve, just for a little while longer. Leave the emails in the freezer, leave the DVDs in the box, leave it all undisturbed. It might only be for a few more days. We need it all, Heather. A watertight case.’
And so I acquiesced. I took photos of the DVDs in the box anyway, like I did with the emails, then replaced everything exactly as it was when I found it. A quick glance into the remaining boxes revealed nothing out of the ordinary – childhood sports trophies, a chipped, old-fashioned blue and white dinner service, a few old Christmas decorations that looked as if a child had made them. Jack? I wondered.
Two of the boxes were, as she had told me, clearly Rhona’s. They were packed with winter coats, knitwear and boots, clothes she presumably felt no need to keep down in her little apartment now the weather was warming up. The only box I didn’t dare look inside was the one she’d taped up, the one with the camera, because I couldn’t work out any way to do that without being caught. So I simply lifted my hoodie from it and left the room, but doing so was torture. Could the jewellery be in that one? If it is, it’s going to have to stay there until we finally, somehow, go back to collect all this stuff, and I leave Jack’s house for the last time.
My fear is growing, though, and now I’m not just scared of Jack, I’m properly frightened of Rhona too. I can’t get my head round that camera in her box, and why she was putting it there today. Was that her own security camera, to protect her belongings? Is she as paranoid as he is? Or did she put it there on his instructions? And if Jack, or both of them, are watching what I do while they sleep, why has neither of them said anything yet? Surely by now they’d be suspicious of why I seem to be blocking the camera lenses so often? Once or twice could be written off as a coincidence, but I’ve done it so many times: the gym, the kitchen, the lounge, the attic… and Jack’s not stupid. Or did what I let him do in the gym this morning convince him that I’m oblivious to the electronic eyes that see my every move? There are so many questions I just don’t know the answers to, and the not knowing is agony. But, as Felicity said, this might take no more than a few more days. I only have the snug and the cellar to search now, and if Yiannis does message me today as he said he would, and agrees to help me, well…
I stop dead. Somehow, the tiny bit of my brain that isn’t currently obsessing about all this has registered that I’ve just walked past the café. Expresso Express, there it is. I stand there for a few moments, gathering my thoughts, then take a deep breath and push the door open.
The place is big, thirty or so tables, and is about half-full. I looked up a photo of Naomie Anderson on the Shannon Medical website, and so I spot her immediately. When I reach her, I smile and hold out my hand.
‘Naomie? Hi, I’m Heather. It’s so kind of you to do this, honestly, thank you.’
She looks at me for a few seconds, her eyes flitting from my face to my shoes and back up again, then she holds out a hand too and gives mine a firm shake. She appears to be in her early forties, a curvy woman with wavy black hair, dressed in a smart grey trouser suit, and when she speaks it’s with a soft Caribbean lilt.
‘Hello. It’s no trouble. I usually come here for lunch anyway. Nice to get out of the office for a bit and see the sun when I’m on day shifts. I do more nights than most, because that’s when Mr Shannon needs me. You know.’
Her words are pleasant enough, but she’s not smiling and there’s a coolness in her eyes.
I’m going to have to be very careful here, I think as I sit down.
‘Yes, I know. Do you mind it, the nocturnal lifestyle?’ I ask.
She shrugs, large gold hoops in her ears swaying gently.
‘It’s OK. I’m single, no kids. If I had a family, it might be different. Anyway, what can I do for you? I have to leave in about fifteen minutes.’
She’s clearly been here for a while already, a half-drunk orange juice and a small crumb-strewn plate on the table in front of her. She hasn’t asked if I want anything to eat or drink, and I decide not to bother looking around for a waiter.
‘That’s fine. I really do appreciate you sparing me even a few minutes,’ I say. ‘So, as I said in my email, I’ve recently started dating Jack – Mr Shannon. Well, it’s actually the second time we’ve dated… We were together for a few months a couple of years ago, but I didn’t buy him a birthday present that time around. We weren’t getting on so well at that point and it didn’t seem appropriate, but this time… As I’m sure you know, it’s his birthday in a few weeks’ time, and I wanted to get him something really nice, you know? But he’s the kind of man who has everything. Men are hard to buy for at the best of times, aren’t they, and I’m really struggling to think of something he’d like. I mean, I know what his interests are – art and books and stuff like that – but the type of paintings and hardbacks he collects are way out of my budget, so I really need some advice. I don’t know any of his friends well enough to ask them, so I thought, well, his PA will know him better than anyone…’
The words are spilling out of me, and Naomie is staring at me with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised and a detached look on her face.
‘So, can you? Help me, I mean? Can you think of anything he’d really like? I’m tearing my hair out.’
A little smirk twists her mouth for a moment, then the passive expression returns.
‘I mean, I could come up with several ideas,’ she says slowly. ‘But don’t you think it’s a bit impersonal to ask me to select a gift? Surely you should choose something that’s meaningful to the two of you, if you’re a couple?’
She doesn’t actually draw air quotes as she says the word ‘couple’, but she emphasises it in such a way that it’s pretty clear she’s sceptical.
‘I wasn’t really asking you to select a gift, just maybe give me some ideas,’ I say, trying to keep my tone friendly. ‘Something he’s mentioned at work, maybe? Or, you know…’
I plough on, desperate to get to the real point, conscious that the clock is ticking. Shall I start with Rose?
‘Do you have any idea about presents previous girlfriends might have given him?’ I say. ‘Did he ever date anyone you knew? Anyone who worked for him?’
Naomie stiffens.
‘Once. But she was a thief and a drunk,’ she says coldly. ‘I don’t know what he ever saw in her. Clearly just out for what she could get. I doubt she ever bought him a thing.’
Wow, I think. If only you knew. My God.
I have a sudden urge to grab her by the shoulders, to hiss the truth at her, but that would clearly be a terrible idea right now, so I force a surprised expression onto my face.
‘Oh gosh,’ I say. ‘That sounds unfortunate. Other girlfriends then? Amber Ryan, before— Um, well, before what happened? I knew her once, you know, many years ago. We actually went to school together – can you believe that? Bit of a mad coincidence!’
I’m watching her closely, waiting to see how she reacts, and at the mention of Amber’s name, Naomie’s eyes narrow, her mouth hardening into a tight line. When she replies her words drip with venom.
‘I have no idea if she ever bought him a gift, but we do not speak her name, OK? Nobody at work does. She nearly destroyed him. She nearly killed him. She disfigured him for life. That wonderful man was traumatised by what happened in that house that night. I’m not sure he’ll ever really recover. So please, do not mention her name to me, or to him, ever. That’s the best advice I can give you. And if you want to buy him a present, just get him some good cologne or a silk tie. He likes to smell good and look good, and he still manages that every single day, despite what he’s been through. But honestly, I’m not sure why you’re bothering. I mean, you’re not really his type. He told me you work in a shop. It’s not quite… Well, never mind. I’m sorry, I need to go now. Goodbye.’
And with that, she stands up and marches out of the café. Moments later, I see her striding past the window, and then she’s gone.
Bloody hell.
I sit back in my chair, feeling a little stunned. I can’t work out how useful that was yet, but it’s pretty clear Naomie thinks the sun shines out of Jack’s pert bottom. Would she really talk about him like that, and be so derogatory about Rose and Amber, if she knew the truth about what Jack had done to them? Surely not. I shake my head as I stand up too and leave the café. As I walk back to the station, I replay the conversation in my mind.
I don’t think she knows. I really don’t. I don’t think she’s his accomplice. But if not her, then who? Someone else he works with? A female friend I don’t know about? Or… could it be Rhona? The more encounters I have with that woman, the more my gut tells me she’s not what she seems. And that camera thing this morning… My stomach swirls, dread starting to grip me again. I’m pretty sure Naomie will tell Jack I’ve been to see her, but I’m hoping the birthday gift cover story will be enough to convince him, even if she does tell him we talked about Rose and Amber. There’s nothing I can do about that now, anyway, and as I stop outside the entrance to the station, fumbling in my bag for my wallet, I run through a mental checklist of my remaining tasks.
I have to search the snug and the cellar. The jewellery could be in that box in the attic, but it might not be. And should I ask Nathan to do some research into Rhona’s background? I’m surprised he hasn’t suggested doing that before, actually. I’ll do some myself too… and then there’s Yiannis. If he is our hacker, maybe he knows who did the stabbing too. But how do I ask him?
Please, please let him get back to me and agree to meet up again, because if he doesn’t, I have no idea what to do next…
As soon as I get home, I check my real phone, desperately hoping there’ll be a message. And – flipping hell! It’s as if the universe has actually heard me and responded promptly, for once. It’s from Yiannis.