Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) (30 page)

“You’re saying this is the Saxton house?”

“Yes. I think this is the girl’s bedroom.”

“Hold on a minute, that’s Jason Edmonds,” said Jenny, incredulously. And then, more calmly, “He’s the crime scene manager. And that’s his team. Is this live?”

“Yes. Although there’s a couple of minutes time lag as the video travels over the web.”

Brody minimised the feed and selected the master bedroom. Hilary Saxton lay on her bed talking on the phone. Brody turned up the volume. Jenny leaned in closer to hear over the background hubbub of the café.

“They won’t let me see him,” Hilary said. “He’s been there all night. I don’t know what’s going on. Dad, why would the police suspect Derek? It makes no sense . . . ” 

Brody muted the volume. 

“And you saw
me
on this yesterday?” 

“Saw and heard. You were in the kitchen with Hilary Saxton and a posse of other police officers.” He clicked out of the bedroom and brought up the kitchen. It was empty. 

“What kind of website is this?”

Avoiding the whole pentest saga, Brody summarised what he knew about the site while giving her a tour of it, randomly selecting locations and feeds. He explained how you registered, paid for basic webcams and then paid more to access additional feeds and audio. And he finished with his belief that all the webcams were in the UK.

“Is it legal?” she asked.

“No idea. I guess it depends on whether the people in all these locations have given their permission to the site.” 

“Do the Saxtons have any idea that their house is being broadcast to all and sundry over the Internet?”

“I don’t know. Most of the people on these webcams seem to be completely oblivious. But in the case of the Saxtons, I’d go as far as to say that they know the webcams are there. I saw Audri look up at one of the webcams yesterday morning. Knowingly, it seemed to me. But whether they’re aware that these feeds are viewable by just anyone, you’ll have to ask them.”

“I will.” 

“Did you know that Derek Saxton was having an affair with the au pair?”

“Yes,” she replied. Brody was dismayed. He’d thought that would be new information. She continued, “But how do
you
know this?”

“I’ve observed them fooling around under the wife’s nose. Quick gropes here and there, that kind of thing.” He didn’t want to mention the bath scene that he and Leroy had watched.

“Interesting.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s your role in all this, Mr . . . Brody? Why do you watch these feeds?”

It was the most difficult question and he’d planned for it.

“I do contract work for an IT security consultancy. I specialise in helping their clients protect their systems and networks from cyber threats.” As he spoke, he realised that was the nearest he’d ever got to the truth when meeting a woman for the first time. It didn’t even sound that bad. For once, he had avoided inventing a film industry related profession; film director, cameraman, movie producer, or even stuntman. But then, this was no date. He looked Jenny in the eye and, despite his instincts to the contrary, lied to her face. “One of the other security consultants is going out with someone who works in a call centre business. It seems she’s being stalked. As a favour to him, I’m trying to find out the identity of her stalker.”

“Go on.”

“This is the call centre . . . ” Brody selected one of the three call centre locations he’d found on the site. “Someone’s been emailing her video footage of her talking on the phone, not always on official call centre business, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I’m with you.”

“They’re both embarrassed because the recordings were from her side of their conversation. Talking dirty with her boyfriend.”

“I see. Can’t you just trace the email?”

“I’ve tried. It’s from a Russian site that provides disposable email addresses, completely untraceable.”

“Presumably, the email headers make it appear like it’s from someone she knows?”

“I’m impressed. Again,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she said. “We’ve had something similar happen on this case.”

“That’s interesting. Which anonymous email service was used?”

“I’ve no idea. And anyway, I can’t talk about case details.” She sipped her espresso. “What name was used on the fake email?”

“No one they know. Seems to be a made-up name.” Brody was now inventing fake facts on the fly. He hadn’t expected to go into this much detail. 

“Do your friends know the video is broadcast on this website?”

“No, I haven’t told them that yet. She thinks it’s one of her co-workers who’s got access to the CCTV system at work, which is what I thought initially. It’s only when I traced the source of the video file she sent me that I discovered SecretlyWatchingYou.com.” 

It was a convoluted story. He should have gone for something simpler.

She wasn’t finished. “Does the call centre company know they’re being broadcast on this site?”

Brody continued improvising. “I haven’t asked them. The girlfriend wants to keep it all hush-hush, so my approaching the employer won’t help.” He hoped she didn’t ask who the company was. He didn’t have an answer for that.

“So why were you watching the Saxtons if you’re focused on this call centre location?”

At last, back on track.

“I wasn’t particularly. I was just getting to know the site, looking around, when I saw you and half the Met. I figured you probably didn’t know about the webcams and that you ought to.”

“Well, that’s very public spirited of you.” She cocked her head to one side, studying him. Brody couldn’t tell if she believed his story or not. Jenny seemed very sharp. He’d invented the friend-of-a-friend stalker story to appeal to her compassionate side. In his head it had sounded plausible, like most of his deceptions, and although he hated lying, he could hardly state the truth –
DI Price, I’m in a desperate race against another hacker to be first to crack the SWY site. All so that I can retain my online god-like-status among my fellow hackers around the world. 

Jenny said, “But I don’t see how these webcams fit in. We’ve got the husband in custody. He orchestrated the whole thing.”

“Derek Saxton.”

Brody noticed that she hesitated before nodding her head in confirmation.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “Would you like another coffee?”

“No, one’s enough, thanks.” Jenny looked at her watch. “Anyway, I’ve got to be somewhere soon. I was expecting my colleague to turn up by now.” She picked up her phone, tutted and said, “Two missed calls from him and a voicemail. I bet he’s running late.”

“Who?”

“My computer expert.”

Jenny held up her hand while she listened to a garbled message on her phone. Her face dropped. “Damn, he’s not coming.”

“Was he going with you to the Flexbase headquarters?”

Jenny eyed him suspiciously. “How the hell would you know that?”

“I must have overheard someone mention Flexbase when I saw you in the kitchen.” He watched her try to recall whether this was true. “And anyway, the news cameras have been outside the Flexbase building in Watford. That’s where Audri’s body was discovered, right?”

“And so you just put two and two together?”

“I guess. It makes sense. And you chose this coffee shop, right near their Docklands head office.”

He wasn’t sure she had bought it. “What did you need a computer expert for?”

“None of your business, why?”

“Well, I’m here. Maybe I could help.”

“Definitely not, Mr Taylor.”

He gave her his best smile and said, “I thought we had this sorted, DI Price. Call me Brody.”

* * *

It was the second time in his life that he had spent the night in a police cell. The first had been fifteen years ago after a drunken night out in Bath, when he and one of his Sarries teammates ended up in a massive brawl with some local rugby fans in a nightclub. That time Derek had awoken with an almighty hangover. This time he found himself soberly facing up to the stark reality of his predicament. 

Last time, the fight and his overnight internment had become front-page news. He’d earned the nickname
Mad-Dog Derek
because he had put one of the fans in hospital with both arms and three ribs broken. Derek wondered whether he’d be on the front of today’s papers. He’d heard somewhere that any publicity is good publicity and his agency could certainly do with some. But to be in the headlines as a murder suspect? That was too much.

He had spent most of the night awake, lying on the hard surface of the cell’s bunk, his thoughts oscillating between Hilary and Audri.

He couldn’t believe the police had accused him of rape and murder. Him? At first he’d thought it was some kind of sick joke. But as it slowly sunk in that Audri — young, beautiful, carefree, wild Audri — was dead, rage threatened to blow through. And, for everyone’s sake, especially his own, he needed to control his temper. But the horrific images of her last few hours coursing through his mind were overwhelming.

The letter was a problem. And it bothered him immensely. Who could possibly have written it? The whole idea of Audri coming to his office late at night virtually naked had been something they had chatted about a few weeks ago. But they’d never got round to it. She must have told someone about it — he certainly hadn’t. But then that meant that she had talked to someone about their relationship. Her friend Ornetta, maybe? Audri hardly knew anyone in England.

And then his thoughts would sway towards self-preservation, thinking about his wife. What if it all came out about his dalliance with Audri? He would lose everything. His gorgeous baby daughter, his home, his whole damn life. And, yes, the wife he loved. What the hell had he been playing at? What a bloody fool.
Never shit on your own doorstep
; rule number one. And he’d broken it. In style. 

His lawyer had given him assurances that Hilary wouldn’t find out about the affair, but Derek wasn’t convinced that his lawyer cut the mustard when it came to criminal law. He made a mental note to get a criminal specialist, whatever the cost. And anyway, he’d been arrested and detained. For murder. Surely that meant the police would follow every angle. Even the ones that led nowhere. Like his relationship with Audri. That policewoman, DI Price, didn’t seem to care. In fact, he was convinced she would enjoy dropping him in the shit with his wife. Or perhaps the press. 

No, he had to sort this out. And quickly.

He only had one card he could play. It would muddy what he’d achieved yesterday with the two medallists from London 2012. At least Arthur Aguda was signed up and on the books after their champagne lunch. No way out. But his evening meeting with Stacey Goodwin, the Paralympic rower, had only been an initial pitch, although it had gone extremely well. Boosted by her upcoming autobiography, she was sure to become his most lucrative client. If only she signed on the dotted line. 

But now he would need to drag her into this sorry mess. It would be bad publicity for her. Definitely not the right way to begin their business relationship. And the result was bound to be her dropping him like the proverbial hot potato. And then there would be a knock-on effect. Prospective clients would choose other sports agencies. Existing clients wouldn’t renew their contracts. If he couldn’t be seen to be in control of his own life, how could he be expected to manage his clients’ careers?

Despite the high cost, he had no choice.

Derek stood up and banged on the door.

“Guard,” he shouted. “Guard!”

* * *

Was she completely mad?

Jenny had already asked herself that at least twenty times during the short walk from the coffee shop to the Flexbase headquarters. She decided that she must be, choosing to accept Brody Taylor’s offer of assistance. Certifiable even.

His story about the Internet webcams in the Saxton home was interesting. Intriguing even. But was it relevant to the Audri Sahlberg case? That was the real question. They already had Saxton detained and he had no alibi. The invitation letter was clearly written by him. He had admitted to an affair with the second victim. Keeping that secret from his wife was a viable motive, although extreme. 

But for each of these reasons, there were loose threads that didn’t tie up. So far nothing linked Saxton back to Anna Parker, the cellist. His fingerprints weren’t on the letter, the sheet of instructions or anywhere in either crime scene. After killing Audri, he could easily have taken the letter and the instruction note from the crime scene and disposed of them, but for some reason he hadn’t. Jenny supposed he could have panicked and accidentally left the incriminating evidence behind, but there was no sign of any panic in either crime scene. Both murders were orchestrated with precision and seemed to have gone exactly to Saxton’s twisted plans. Something didn’t add up.

She would know for sure soon enough. The DNA profiles from the semen recovered from both victims had been sent to the labs on the highest priority, along with saliva swabs from Saxton. The results would come through later today. She had no doubt all three would match each other. Then the evidence against Saxton would no longer be circumstantial. 

So where did these webcams fit in?

It made Jenny wonder if there was more to the case. There was certainly more to Brody Taylor. He was definitely holding something back; she could sense it, although she had no idea what. Everything he had shown and told her, despite being incredibly strange, was all very convincing. So why did she have the feeling she was being manipulated?

For better or worse, she had consciously decided to keep him close. Technically he was a witness and she had told him so. And that he needed to come to the station and give a formal statement, which he’d readily agreed to. 

He was tall and well built, toned rather than muscly, and his piercing green eyes sparkled with mischief. His thick blond hair was fashionably swept back while short at the sides and his stubble was neatly trimmed. She hoped that the reason she’d consented to him tagging along to Flexbase wasn’t because she found him attractive? She wanted it to be on professional grounds. To be about keeping him close, because he was a witness who had more to divulge. To be about the convenience of him being there with all his IT skills when Harry had let her down at such short notice, with his voicemail about his daughter being bullied at school. To be about something that had nothing to do with him as a man.