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The incident room door opened as the rest of the officers working on the case began to arrive. Clutching coffees, files, laptops and printouts. Freddie watched them talk to each other and report in to Moast. Working alone and in groups. Surely this many police could find whoever @Apollyon was before…She didn’t want to finish her thought:
before he kills again
.

She couldn’t just sit here. Following directions from Jamie, she took the back stairs of the station and looked for room 01.203, which housed the tech team. She knocked on the door and waited.

‘Come in!’ called a cheerful voice from inside.

Freddie opened the door into what she thought at first was a cupboard. The small, dark, windowless room smelt like a teen boy’s bedroom. Sat in front of two computers were two men.

‘Hullo,’ said the guy nearest to her. He was tubby with a nice open face, his black tie bouncing on the white shirt that was stretched over his belly as he turned his wheelie chair toward her.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. ‘I was looking for the tech team.’ She started to back out of the room.

‘That’s us,’ said the jovial guy. ‘I’m Sergeant Griffiths and this is Sergeant Patel,’ he jerked his thumb at the slight man who sat behind him. Sergeant Patel smiled shyly, and the moustache that looked as soft as a feather on his top lip turned up at the ends.

‘No need to ask who you are, we’ve seen you on Twitter,’ said Sergeant Griffiths.

‘You’re actually on Twitter?’ said Freddie. ‘I thought the whole station was banned from it?’

‘Different rules down here, isn’t that right, Patel?’ Griffiths turned his swivel chair back toward his screen. Sergeant Patel nodded and smiled again.

‘You guys are the tech team?’ Freddie looked at the hard drives, phones in plastic bags and laptops that were stacked in the windowless room.

‘Ack, we may not be your e-crime super geeks, like them digital forensics they have on the top cases.’ Griffiths grabbed a can of Coke from his desk. ‘This isn’t yours is it, mate?’ he asked Sergeant Patel, who smiled and shook his head. ‘But we do a mighty fine job with what we’ve got.’ He took a swig from the can. ‘Who do you think cracked the metadata on your Hashtag Murderer photo your suspect posted online?’

Freddie nodded. ‘Okay, fair point. And they keep you in a dark room because?’

Griffiths took a swig from his drinks can. Sergeant Patel opened a drawer and took a napkin and held it out for his colleague. ‘Cheers, mate,’ said Griffiths. ‘All the rooms on this side of the station are artificially lit.’ He wiped his chin with the napkin.

‘Oh,’ said Freddie. ‘I thought maybe it was a darkroom, like for photos and stuff.’

‘We tend to digitally print all photographs now,’ Sergeant Patel spoke so softly she just caught his words.

‘Of course,’ Freddie felt dumb. ‘So have you had any luck tracing the device that posted on @SophieCat111’s account?’

‘The posts can all be linked to a mobile phone mast in the Leighton Buzzard area,’ said Patel.

‘And it looks like the phone was turned off in that area. The last post was transmitted by the same mast,’ said Griffiths.

‘Do you know where it was when it was switched off?’ Freddie asked.

‘Ah, come now, as our very own Social Media Advisor you should know that without the phone’s number or a GPS-encoded metadata file we cannae do that,’ Griffiths said, quite friendly.

‘I have traced the GPS coordinates that were embedded in some of the images the @SophieCat111 account posted.’ Sergeant Patel lifted a pile of photographic prints from on top of a nearby laptop. ‘From the time range and spread of locations – across the globe – I would suggest that @SophieCat111 only shared images that were taken by others,’ he said.

‘Maybe she didn’t have a camera phone?’ Freddie said.

‘Possible, but most smartphones have cameras these days, and her online posts would indicate they were from a smartphone.’

Then where was Sophie Phillips’ smartphone?
It wasn’t in her flat, or her office, she had no car, or other place she frequented that they knew of. Perhaps she lost it, or it was taken by the killer? ‘Can I have those photographs?’

‘Sure,’ said Sergeant Patel. ‘I’ve written the date, time and location on the back of those I’ve identified.’

Perhaps there was a pattern to where Sophie pulled her images from?
A Reddit thread or specialist website? If Freddie could compare the images and locate a common source, she might build a better picture of Sophie’s online life. ‘Thanks.’ She took the pile of photos.

‘Ms Venton?’ Griffiths said, as she turned to go. ‘If things continue down this road, with this Apollyon guy, then do feel free to tell DCI Moast he might want to call in the big boys.’

‘The big boys?’ she asked.

‘Yup. Me and Sergeant Patel here do a mighty fine job with what we’ve got, but a Digital Forensic Analyst, a specialist, might be able to glean more.’

‘But the posts on Twitter? The clues online? Apollyon?’ Freddie couldn’t believe this. Surely that was enough of a motivator? ‘Why hasn’t Moast called a Digital Forensic in already?’

‘Ah,’ said Griffiths. ‘They’re in short supply and take up an awful lot of the budget. We tend to use them to corroborate existing evidence, but I think they might be useful on this case. If it continues to develop in this way.’

‘We saw the photo of the victim’s room that was posted,’ said Sergeant Patel. ‘I can find no GPS coordinates hidden in that one. It was probably taken on a pay-as-you-go phone.’

Freddie was trying to process all this: Moast seemed to finally acknowledge Apollyon might be the killer. ‘Do you think he’ll call in a Digital Forensic now?’

‘Ack, don’t you go getting worried about it, pet,’ said Griffiths. ‘You know your stuff surely, else the Superintendent wouldn’t have hired you. You may cost less than a Digital Analyst, but I bet you’re twice as smart aren’t you!’ Griffiths beamed at her. Sergeant Patel looked down at the floor. Freddie managed to nod and backed out of the room. ‘Tell your DCI we’ll have the results on Sophie Phillips’ hard drive soon,’ Griffiths called as she closed the door behind her.

She couldn’t compare to a digital specialist.
Had Gray used all his budget on her?
No wonder Moast was pissed. She looked down at the photos in her hands, what was it her mum used to say?
If you can’t get round something then you’ve got to go through it.
She had to get on with this. People were relying on her.

She took the photos to the canteen and spread them across one of the long tables. She began to group together photos or memes of what looked like the same cat, or memes that used the same text font, or had what looked like the same background. Occasionally she checked Twitter in case there were any further updates. Blocking the idiots who hurled abuse at her online. And ignoring those she’d previously thought of as friends, asking with undisguised glee how she was holding up following
The Family Paper’
s smear attack on her this morning. Plenty were too eager to feast on her humiliation. What could she say? She felt sick all the time, but not because of her photos in
The Family Paper
, but because there were two people dead and she felt like nothing she did helped. She was divorced from her previous life of quick-fire cynical puns. No more hilariously inappropriate Cards Against Humanity games; the reality of death had altered her very idea of life. It wasn’t so much that she’d tasted death but that it had tasted her. And now it had that taste, it kept coming back.

Again, she thought about Brian’s strong hands snaking round her. It was madness to imagine they were the same hands that closed round Sophie’s neck. And yet she couldn’t shake the thought. There was no trace of him online. It was as if he never existed. She’d geotagged herself that night. She’d let it be known online where she was. Was he in the bar already or did he arrive after? Did @Apollyon know who she was? Her face had been all over the newspapers. Had he come close enough to taste her? No. She was going crazy. This wasn’t about her. It was about Sophie. She picked up the pile of cat photos: a change of scene might help.

Walking back to the incident room, Nas stepped out of the ladies’ room in front of her, shaking the last drops of water from her hands. Her hair scraped back into a practical ponytail. She nodded. They stood, awkwardly for a moment. ‘I’m sorry about the shitty
Family Paper
,’ Freddie tried. How did every communication between them sour so quickly?

Nasreen’s lip twitched. ‘Forget about it. Can’t be helped.’

Freddie felt herself exhale. It was okay. She didn’t hate her. Well, no more than normal. They both moved to walk back toward the incident room in unison. Like they were strolling the pinboard-covered halls of Pendrick High again, they fell into step beside each other. Nas, tall and streamlined, each click of her heels on the floor a flag planted, ground gained. Freddie, sloping, hunched into her baggy hoodie, her DMs squeaking. ‘Any further news on Sophie’s Internet devices?’

‘We’re still waiting for access to be granted to the work machine. The hard drive on the computer in her flat was wiped clean.’ Nas swept an imaginary hair from her forehead. Her nails rounded pink petals against her cappuccino skin.

‘Why would he wipe her hard drive?’ asked Freddie.

‘Presumably there was something on it that linked Sophie to him. Whoever did this not only knew what they were doing, they also took their time.’

Freddie felt a wave of nausea. How long had Sophie hung between life and death? Drugged, but potentially still saveable. ‘If we’d worked a bit quicker…’

‘We didn’t have enough to go on. It’s not worth thinking about,’ Nas said flatly.

‘But if we’d worked out the clues quicker?’

‘Then what? There are thousands of Sophies, hundreds of cat lovers. He knew that,’ Nas said.

‘So why do it, why tweet clues?’

‘Attention. Theatrics. To create panic. To prove how clever he is. I don’t know.’ Nas looked tired. ‘The DCI has requested a profiler for this case, but the paperwork will take time to process.’

Freddie couldn’t escape the feeling she could have done more. And now there was another dead body. Another victim. It was different than Mardling though. ‘It’s not just the missing cat is it?’ she said out loud.

‘What is?’ Nasreen stopped and turned to her. A black-haired constable came towards them. They stepped aside to let him pass.

‘I mean, it was different. The murder.’

‘Constable.’ Nasreen nodded as the copper passed. ‘You mean the method?’

‘Yeah.’ Freddie thought of Mardling’s butchered dripping body. ‘No blood.’

Nasreen chewed the side of her cheek. ‘I thought that, it felt less…angry. The spiked sugar implies they knew her routine. And the way she was laid out. Sacrificial. The attention to detail: that white dress. Virginal. Bridal perhaps. It felt like there was love there. Or at least care.’

‘Yeah, certainly none of that with Mardling.’ Freddie tried to focus her thoughts. Keep on the details. Stay away from the face of Sophie.

‘Apollyon and the same bleach being used at each crime scene are the only definitive links between the victims we’ve found so far,’ said Nas.

‘The clues, and the photos posted by Apollyon of Mardling and now Sophie’s empty bedroom, must mean the killer is the same person,’ said Freddie. ‘Or at least using the same account. Could it be more than one person?’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Nas.

‘Sophie and Mardling, it doesn’t feel the same. There’ve been a lot of suicide groups and pacts drawn up over the Internet. I read a report about it on xoJane. Could this be something similar? A murder group? A killing pact?’

Nas’s lips puckered in thought. ‘I don’t know any more. It sounds so extreme. But then a week ago so did the idea of a serial killer posting on Twitter.’

‘You’re the first one, apart from me, to say that: serial killer,’ Freddie said quietly.

Nasreen seemed to shake herself. ‘We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. DCI Moast is correct. We need to concentrate on the evidence in hand: relook at the door-to-door enquiries, speak to locals, and stay focused on the facts. The IT guys haven’t turned anything up based on the photo of Sophie’s room that was posted. No time or date log.’

‘I know,’ said Freddie.

‘We need to be careful not to get distracted by silly Internet games.’

‘Distracted?’ Freddie couldn’t believe she just said that. ‘First a troll and now a cat lover is murdered. It screams online stereotypes! Who’s next? A YouTuber? Some Instagram star? This is all about the bloody Internet. He must be doing it for fame. Or fear. Or…I don’t know.’ Freddie was gripping the photos so tightly she felt one cut into her finger.

Nasreen sighed. ‘I’m as frustrated as you are, Freddie, but we can’t just make up random theories. Technically it’s not a pattern until there are three instances.’

Freddie’s blood ran cold at the thought of a third murder: they couldn’t let that happen.

‘We have to look at the evidence,’ Nas continued.

Freddie stared at her.
Why can’t you bring yourself to agree with me?
Deep inside, Freddie knew it was because of what she’d done back then. Their past secret burned in the air between them. The incident room door opened, flooding the hallway with noise. Jamie peered out, caught site of Nasreen and his face lit up in a huge smile.
Great. Just what we need now.
Freddie rolled her eyes.

‘Sergeant Cudmore, I was looking for you.’ He lolloped toward them.

Nasreen stretched a falsely jolly smile across her face. ‘What is it, Jamie?’

Jamie was clutching some printed pages. ‘Well, it might be nothing, but I think I found something.’

‘What?’ Nasreen turned and gave him her full attention. Freddie felt her heart quicken.

‘I thought I’d look to see if Sophie’s Twitter name appeared anywhere else. Online, like. And the same name, SophieCat111, crops up in this Internet chat room.’ Jamie started spreading papers out across the wall with his hands. How did I miss that? thought Freddie. Jamie must have added in something else: the separate word cat, or similar, to get the hit. Or waded back further than the fifth page of Google search results. She resolved to search again for Mardling’s Twitter handle too.