Page 14

FOURTEEN

The man who, in certain circles, called himself LoveMyBro sat down at his computer and logged on.

The bedroom was a decent size, even if – the tiny bathroom aside – it was the only room, but when he’d rented the flat, in a name that was no more real than his online alias, he’d known it would do the job.

He didn’t need any more space, besides which his benefit payments wouldn’t stretch to anywhere with a higher rent.

He’d had some savings back when he’d started, but they’d all gone on equipment over the last year or so and that was fine, because he’d needed it.

He looked at the array of screens and scanners set up on his desk, the lights on the shiny black computer towers pulsing on either side, and he didn’t regret a single purchase.

It was money well spent.

There had been one or two other miscellaneous costs, of course – certain niche chemical ingredients that hadn’t come cheap, as well as other, rather more basic bits and bobs – but the tech stuff was always going to be core to the mission.

In the last few months, a lot of his time had actually been taken up by doing nothing more high-tech than poring over court records and newspaper stories, though he was able to do at least some of that sitting in his car.

He’d spent quite a lot of time in his car, because when he wasn’t gathering the necessary evidence he was parked up and staring at the front of numerous cop shops, carefully studying the comings and goings of various boys in blue and taking copious notes.

Yes, it was donkey work, but it had needed doing.

Most importantly, it had paid off, because all that information had eventually been transformed into detailed spreadsheets which had been the basis of everything in the end, and it was those hours in front of a screen, seeing it all come together, that he enjoyed the most.

Using one of his many disposable operating systems, all activity hidden by a Virtual Private Network that was not commercially available, he opened the Tor browser . . .

Getting to the right spot always felt a bit like finding a hidden corridor in some big old house in the woods that only a few people even knew was there.

You went in through the main entrance, but then you had to move between floors and navigate a series of interconnecting passageways before getting to a door that didn’t even look like a door.

That got you into one room, but there was always a secret way out of that room into another and another, each one smaller and darker than the last, until you eventually found yourself where you needed to be.

The quiet place he’d created, where the two of them could meet and talk.

You didn’t seem very happy afterwards. I’m a bit confused.

. . .

It went exactly the way you wanted, didn’t it? The way I thought you wanted, anyway. Talk to me . . .

. . .

He checked his watch to make sure he’d got the time right.

They’d agreed to leave it a while before catching up and that had turned out to be very sensible.

Buzzing as he was afterwards, he’d fallen into bed as soon as he’d got back from the park and had spent the next eight hours dead to the world.

Not as dead as some, obviously.

Hellooooo . . . ??

. . .

She’d definitely been a bit weird with him right at the end, no question.

It wasn’t like he’d been expecting a high-five or that they’d go somewhere to open a bottle or anything, but he’d thought she’d be happier.

As it was, she couldn’t wait to get away.

Maybe she hadn’t understood, but as far as he was concerned it had all been pretty bloody obvious.

What had she thought the set-up in the park was all about?

She certainly wasn’t stupid and all along she’d seemed every bit keen as he was, every bit as up for it.

What did I do? I don’t understand.

. . .

I mean, his face was a picture, didn’t you reckon? His mouth hanging open like that because he knew he was fucked.

. . .

He knew that nobody was going to be as committed to all this as he was or would do quite so much to put things right, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have a serious bloody grievance. Not as much as him, obviously, but she definitely had skin in the game.

Come on, I can’t piss about waiting for you.

He sat back and stared at the winking cursor and told himself that if he never spoke to her again it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

This had never been about making friends.

It was about finding allies, that was all.

Hooking up with those who felt broadly the same as he did, whatever their reason.

It was a shame, because she was nice and her pain had sat together nicely with his, but it couldn’t be helped.

Fighting a campaign like this, there would always be losses on both sides.

He’d give her ten more minutes, then knock it on the head.

He had stuff to do.