‘Jesus. That’s what happens in one of Stephen Linley’s books,’ said Erika to Peterson.
‘That’s why he was her third victim,’ Keith said. ‘She hated Stephen Linley. Her husband was obsessed with his books and he acted out a lot of the scenarios from them.’
‘And didn’t you think you should talk to someone, call the police?’
‘You have to realise… I’m condensing years and years, hours upon hours of our chats here.’
‘Keith, come on!’
‘I love her!’ he cried. ‘You don’t understand! We… we were going to run away. She was going to get me out of…of… THIS!’
Keith broke down, his head forward on his chest, sobbing. Erika went to him and put her arm around his shoulders.
‘Keith, I’m so sorry. Are you still talking to her?’
He looked up from his sobbing and nodded. The lenses of his grimy glasses were wet with tears.
‘And what? Were you about to leave together?’
Peterson pulled out a small pack of tissues and handed one to Keith.
‘Thanks,’ Keith said, through his sobs. ‘We were going to take the train to France. The Eurostar has disabled access. I checked. And then we were going to make our way down slowly on trains, staying in French chateaus, heading to Spain to live by the sea.’
Erika noticed that pinned up above the computer stand were some pictures of Barcelona and a seaside town in Spain.
‘When were you planning on going?’ asked Peterson.
Keith shrugged. ‘When she’s done.’
‘Done what?’ asked Erika.
‘Done… All the names on her list.’
‘How many names are on her list?’
‘She said there were four.’
‘And has she given you any idea of who the fourth victim will be?’ asked Erika.
‘No, all I know is that when she’s done, we’ll be together.’ Keith bit his lip and looked between Erika and Peterson. He started to cry again. ‘It IS real. She loves me. She might not know what I am but we have a real connection!’ He took some deep breaths and took off his glasses, beginning to clean them with the edge of his T-shirt.
‘Keith, you do know that now you’ve spoken to us, there are implications? This woman is wanted for three murders.’
Keith put his glasses back on and his face crumpled.
Erika’s voice softened. ‘And you’re sure at no point she gave you her real name, or a location where she lived – any kind of idea about who she is?’
Keith shook his head. ‘She said London, once. And I checked, the PO Box is anonymous.’
‘Have you ever tried to trace her using an IP address?’ asked Peterson.
‘I tried, but I couldn't trace her IP address. She’s probably using Tor. I do.’
‘What’s Tor?’
‘Encryption software, so no one can know what you do online.’
Erika put her hand to her temple. ‘So you’re saying it’s going to be impossible to trace her whereabouts when she accesses the chat room.’
‘Yeah,’ nodded Keith. ‘Impossible.’
70
Erika and Peterson stepped outside Keith’s flat for a moment and walked across the street to the promenade. The small waves down on the shore pulled softly over the shingle and there was a murmur of chatter and laughter from the beach.
‘I know it’s wrong, but I feel sorry for him,’ said Peterson.
‘I feel sorry that his life has ended up like that. But he’s been protecting whoever this woman is, Night Owl,’ said Erika.
‘We shouldn’t leave him too long,’ said Peterson, looking back at the flat. ‘Who knows what he’s going to do?’
‘He’s not going to go anywhere fast,’ said Erika. ‘What do you think we should do?’
’What we should do is pass this information on to the SIO of the case, which is Sparks,’ said Peterson.
‘But Sparks is convinced it’s Isaac Strong who killed Stephen, and he’s convinced he can link Isaac to the two other murders,’ said Erika. ‘If I tell Sparks or Marsh about this, they could tell me to hand it over or not to pursue it, and then that would mean if I do pursue it, I would be going against a direct order.’
‘So, right now we’re…’ started Peterson.
‘Right now, we’re still just visiting someone in Worthing,’ said Erika.
‘Our good friend Keith…’ finished Peterson.