I decided there and then that I was going to kill the fucker.
And what’s more, I was going to enjoy doing it.
85
“It’s not difficult to do. Do you want me to show you how?”
Simon Ashworth had some color in his cheeks for the first time in days. Hiding out in Helen’s flat, he’d become a nervous, fidgety creature, eating little and smoking a lot. But now that Helen had some work for him—and proper detective work at that—he had perked up. He loved a chance to show off his technical expertise and Helen had just handed him an opportunity on a plate.
He’d been surprised by her sudden arrival. She burst in and started firing questions at him without asking him how he was or bothering to update him on the Whittaker situation. She seemed agitated, distracted, and as she filled him in on the details of the investigation, he could see why. He took it all in, but still it was mind-blowing. Progress had clearly been made, however. DI Grace had worked out why the victims were targeted; now she wanted to know how the killer did it. How did the killer know her victims’ movements so well that she could be on hand at the perfect moment to offer them a lift and then abduct them?
Some of them, such as Ben Holland’s weekly meeting, were easy for any ordinary stalker to work out. And Marie and Anna never left the flat. But what about Amy? Or Martina? Their movements were impulsive and unpredictable. How could you climb inside their minds?
“Presuming they don’t post their movements in advance on social media sites and so on, the best way to monitor their plans is to hack into their communications,” Simon began.
For once Helen was silent and Simon relished the brief shift in power.
“Hacking into their phone communications is tricky, as it requires you to lay your hands on their phone and insert a chip. Possible, but risky. Much easier to hack into their e-mail accounts.”
“How?”
“First step is to go to their Facebook site, or anything similar that has personal information on them. Normally you can get their e-mail address from there—Gmail, Hotmail, whatever—plus loads of info about their family, date of birth, favorite holiday destinations, et cetera. Then you call up their e-mail service provider and tell them that you can’t access your e-mails anymore as you’ve forgotten your password. They will ask you a number of fairly standard security questions—your mum’s maiden name, name of a pet, significant date, favorite place—most of which you should be able to answer if you’ve done your homework properly. They will then tell you the old password and ask you if you want to keep it or change it. You tell them to keep it as is, leaving the actual account holder none the wiser and meaning you can now access all their e-mails on your own device. Simple.”
“And would we be able to tell if someone’s account was being accessed by more than one device?”
“Sure. Their account provider would be able to tell you, if you could persuade them. They are a bit funny about that, but if you tell them it’s a murder inquiry they’ll probably play ball.”
Helen thanked Simon and headed back to the nick. He had proved to be crucial to this case in ways she could never have predicted. Amy had e-mailed her mum giving her the exact details of when she’d be hitchhiking home. Had the killer accessed these e-mails and lain in wait? Similarly, Martina had e-mailed her sister—the one person from her old life that she still kept in contact with—asking if she could pay her a visit, get away from Southampton. Was this how the killer had traced Matty? And was this why “Cyn” abducted them when she did, fearing that if Matty/Martina departed to her sister’s in London the opportunity would be lost?
More questions than answers, but finally Helen felt she was getting closer to the truth.
86
“Stay away from me.”
Mickery hissed out the words, but Whittaker ignored her, advancing upon her.
“You lay one finger on me and I’ll scream this whole place down.”
She’d been put in the station infirmary overnight. There she could rest while being protected twenty-four/seven. The callow PC on duty for the late-late shift hadn’t picked up anything unusual in being allowed a cigarette break by the station chief. It was yet another sign of what a good bloke he was. Whittaker knew he had five minutes max and intended to make the most of it.
“I need to know what you’re going to do.”
“I mean it. Don’t come any closer.”
“For God’s sake, Hannah—I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, Michael.”
He attempted to reach out to her, console her, but she pulled away sharply.
“This is your fault. This is all your—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You came to me.”
“Why didn’t you find me?”
The vulnerability in her voice shocked him.
“I was in hell, Mike. Why didn’t you find me?”
