Obsession, p.14
Obsession, page 14
‘How did you find me here?’ I asked.
‘It’s not a big place. I knew who you were before I even saw you on the cameras. From when I first built up Anya’s profile. I have to say I was surprised to see you, but that’s a different matter.’
I felt violated somehow. ‘Just tell me what you know. Please.’
Evans sighed and held my eye, as though now deliberating what he could tell me. ‘Natasha, please don’t take offence to this question. But how well did you know your sister?’
‘I might not have taken offence if you hadn’t pre-empted the question like that.’
‘Do you know why Anya came to Sotogrande? What she did here?’
I squirmed a little in my chair. I didn’t know. I wanted to know. At least, I thought I did. But something about the way Evans spoke suggested I wouldn’t like the answer. ‘No,’ I said, sounding quite ashamed of the fact.
‘I guessed as much. I think hardly anyone did. The police included.’ He reached to his side for his satchel. ‘Can I show you something?’
‘Okay.’
He took out a laptop and spent a few seconds booting it up and typing.
‘Do you know much about the Dark Web.’
‘I know it exists. And that it’s used for… bad things.’ I cringed at my sudden lack of eloquence.
‘It can be. Not always. Have you heard of Perview. With an e.’
‘Should I have?’
Evans shrugged. ‘I hadn’t. Apparently it’s a slang word. But the idea is… well, see for yourself.’
He looked over his shoulder, as if checking the coast was clear, before turning the screen toward me. Black background. Scrolling text down one side. Live messages? A video feed on the right-hand side. A woman on the screen. She wore nothing but underwear. She was… what? Washing-up?
‘Hidden cameras?’ I said, feeling a little sick. ‘Are you doing this?’
‘No. Not hidden. These are very deliberately placed. Don’t ask me for the whys and wherefores, because I don’t know, but there are women and men out there who… do this. For a living.’
‘What? Wander around in their underwear doing chores?’
‘Exactly.’
My words had been tongue in cheek, but Evans spoke so matter-of-factly like this was all entirely normal and to be expected.
‘People pay to watch,’ he said. ‘They have to pay each time to gain access to a live feed. This woman charges a fraction of a Bitcoin for access, about twenty Euro at today’s rates, and that lasts an hour. The performers get tips too, if the viewers like what they see.’
I looked over the screen some more.
‘Eighty-four live viewers,’ I said. And I could see from the messages that many of the watchers were enjoying the show and were paying handsomely in tips for it.
‘This is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘She’s doing the bloody washing-up.’
Evans shrugged. ‘As my mother used to say, it takes all sorts.’
My brain whirred with the information. Of all the salacious truths that Evans could have opened my eyes too about Anya, this had to be perhaps the least bad, didn’t it? Considering some of the alternatives. But then…
‘How do you know these women, men, whatever, know that they’re being watched?’
Evans gave me a conciliatory look. It wasn’t lost on me that he himself had installed spy cameras in two apartments.
‘I’m not going to lie and say it’s exactly a highly regulated business,’ Evans said. ‘But… do you wash-up in your bra and knickers often? And make such a meal of it?’
I blushed. I wished I hadn’t. At the thought that Evans was thinking of me in my underwear in that moment?
‘No. I don’t.’
‘Exactly. So these people get paid for putting on a show. A very soft show, I guess you could say, but the better the show, the more money is made.’
‘But that still doesn’t mean they’re entirely willing. Or that they really get all the money. I mean, there could be others involved. Like… pimps.’
Evans nodded. ‘Almost certainly.’
‘Are you saying that’s what happened to Anya? Someone was forcing her to do this?’ I felt queasy.
‘I don’t know how she started doing this. But her association to Wesley Pino does suggest at least part of her life here was… complicated. Perhaps he was controlling her, to some extent.’
‘And others?’ I asked.
‘Possibly.’
‘Do you know anything about Sotogrande AS LLC?’
Evans smiled. ‘You really have been doing your homework.’
‘Please answer the question.’
‘I tried to get behind it but it’s shell company after shell company. Don’t get me wrong, Wesley Pino wasn’t a good guy, but he wasn’t a criminal kingpin either. If you look far enough along the chain, I’m sure you’d see he was just a lowlife, albeit one with a lot of money from Daddy. But lowlifes like Pino inevitably are working for or with the big boys.’
‘Have you followed that chain? Do you know where it leads?’
‘I don’t think I need to. Not to find Anya’s murderer at least.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, despite what the police say, I see no reason to believe Anya was killed because she was mixed up in gangs. Her death has all the hallmarks of something much simpler. Common, I’d say.’
‘Which is?’
‘Lust. Obsession. I think your sister was killed by someone who was infatuated with her.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We sat in silence as my head swam with the information Evans had told me about Anya’s life, and death. I couldn’t escape the morose thoughts about my sister, how she’d got to such a point in her life where she was, effectively, selling herself – her body – on the internet. How must she have felt? Was she happy and empowered to be living in a nice apartment in Sotogrande, making money from flaunting her body to strangers, or had she been a prisoner, trapped, under the control of someone else?
Did the answer to that have any bearing on her death?
It must have done, because I had little doubt that one way or another that life had led to her murder.
‘The police told me that several sets of fingerprints were found in Anya’s apartment,’ I said. ‘Do you know who they belong to?’
Evans nodded. I wasn’t sure if in answer to my question, or because he was once again impressed with my knowledge.
‘Yes and no.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Yes for some, but not for all. The police already identified Wesley Pino.’
‘Who’s dead now too.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you don’t know who killed him?’
‘No. I wasn’t asked to look at that.’
‘Do you think he could have killed Anya? You said it was lust, infatuation. Even if he was somehow controlling her, it still could have been him?’
‘Actually he had a very good alibi that night. But could he have had some involvement? Yes.’
‘You mean… he could have paid someone else to do it?’
‘It’s possible, but I’ve not specifically seen any evidence to indicate that.’
And the way he said it suggested he didn’t believe that to be the case at all. ‘Then what do you think happened?’
‘There are at least four other sets of prints that I got hold of from the police’s records,’ Evans said.
I didn’t even want to ask how he’d obtained that information.
‘At least?’
‘There are fragments too, which may or may not be from the same people, but based on my analysis, I see Pino, plus definitely four other people who were in your sister’s apartment at some point leading up to her death.’
‘Prints where?’ I asked. ‘There’s a difference between a partial print on a wall in the hallway versus a fully formed print on the handle of a kitchen knife.’
Evans chuckled. ‘You’re right, there is. And I’ll caveat everything by saying there is nothing as obvious as a fingerprint from a bloody smear on a wall. And the police didn’t ever find the murder weapon.’
‘No. I know,’ I said.
‘But let’s get back to what we do know. Pino and four others. I’ve identified… all of them.’
Why the pause? I wondered. ‘You think one of them killed her?’
‘I think all of them have questions to answer.’
‘Have you spoken to any of them?’
‘No.’
‘Because you paused your work?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Do the police know about them?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The police identified two of the people, and concluded they weren’t involved.’
‘And the other two? You haven’t given the police the information you have?’
‘No.’
‘Because?’
‘Because why would I open myself up to legal problems?’
‘But you’re willing to tell me?’
‘I’d like to think Anya’s killer can still be found.’
‘But you’re not prepared to give your evidence to the police, who are best placed to actually investigate murders.’
‘You think?’ he said.
‘Or is it just out of spite because you’re not getting paid.’
I could tell he didn’t like the way I said that. ‘I’m not getting paid. But I still came to find you. To do the right thing.’
Was it really the right thing?
‘Who are they?’ I asked.
‘Pete Kendrick.’
Not a name I knew. I’d be on the case soon enough.
‘Ziyad Faisal.’
I tried to show no reaction.
‘Amy Patterson.’
‘Patterson?’ I hadn’t meant to say anything, but the name caught me by surprise.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Evans said. ‘And you’d be right to think it. Amy Patterson is related to Gus Patterson. In fact, she’s his mother.’
‘What!’
Evans didn’t budge. The revelation clearly wasn’t as big a deal to him as it was to me.
‘Gus’s mother is a suspect?’
‘A suspect? I’m not sure about that. But, at some point, she was inside Anya’s apartment.’
‘And the fourth set of prints is Gus?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Evans said. ‘Not Gus.’
Now I was really confused. ‘So who?’
Evans sighed. ‘I’m going to tell you, Natasha, but I want you to be really careful with what you do with this information. I’m trusting you to do the right thing. And to not in any way allow this to come back to bite me. I might not look like much, but believe me–’
‘Just bloody tell me!’
‘Jake Grayson.’
I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘Jake Grayson? The footballer?’
Evans nodded.
A billionaire’s son. An international footballer. A drug dealer. And the mother of a man I’d hugged earlier today. Oh, and whoever Pete Kendrick was.
Anya… What the actual fuck is going on?
Evans left me in the hotel lobby not long after his big reveal. I didn’t move from the spot for several minutes as my mind continued to whir. Strangely, one of the points I kept coming back to again, and again, was both my surprise and relief that none of the fingerprints in Anya’s apartment belonged to Gus.
But his mum? That was odd, to say the least.
I also felt all the more sneaky for having so underhandedly taken that spoon and given it to the police…
Once I’d gathered my thoughts – or, at least, got sick of going around in circles with them – I went up to my room, packed up my things and checked out.
Evans claimed his work in Spain was done. He was going to collect his equipment and head back to England. Did I trust that he’d really do that? I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t even know if he’d told me the truth about who he was and what he’d been doing.
Which was one of the big reasons why I decided to check out and find another hotel. I couldn’t trust anyone in this town. I was very careful as I moved across Sotogrande, being as sure as I could that no one followed me. But, could I really be one hundred percent sure? Not at all. Just look how easily Evans had tracked me down in the first place.
I buried that thought.
The second hotel was twice the price of the first, not quite twice as nice, though the room – with a double bed this time – did give the smallest glimpse of the sea. I spent a couple of hours in there, searching the internet, trying to make sense of the new information.
Jake Grayson. It didn’t take much effort to find endless articles about him. I remembered the fall-out in the summer following England’s demise at the World Cup. Following that came the prolonged saga of Grayson’s break-up from his long-time girlfriend, which had, in part, been pre-empted by him cosying up with a mystery woman in… Sotogrande.
I’d been aware of the articles at the time. Hadn’t paid them much attention given the timing was so close to Anya’s death. I stared at the picture of Grayson now. Not Anya that he was getting close to. So who was she?
Of course, I already knew about Ziyad Faisal, but the other two?
Amy Patterson was in her fifties and all I could find was a private Facebook profile which gave nothing away of her life. At least not to non-friends. Her husband, Gus’s dad, had a slightly more public image, at least as far as his business background went. As Gus had told me, David Patterson was, or had been, a consultant. In fact, he’d sold his consultancy for a tidy sum of money. But other than that I found little else of interest about the man.
So onto the last one. Pete Kendrick. A name I’d never heard of. And searching the internet and social media sites drew up nothing but a small number of possible Facebook profiles. After some time I’d whittled those down to only one – not because of his own profile, but because of who he was friends with. Specifically a friend who’d posted a whole host of pictures of them on holiday in Sotogrande.
Four people of interest. I’d confront them all. Three of them were in England, at least as far as I was aware.
One of them, for sure, was in Sotogrande still. I set off to find Ziyad.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JAKE
Summer
Jake and Leo arrived at the marina half an hour before they were due to sail. Sail? Was that the right word for a motor-powered yacht?
Float, perhaps. Off. Set-off.
Leo spotted the boat first. The Lady Russell. Jake had no clue who the lady in question was, but the boat… ridiculously nice. Two deck levels. Sun beds. The outside consisted of sweeping curves of grey and black, slick and a little menacing like the yacht a baddie in a Bond movie would have. Jake had been on yachts before. Had chartered them for weeks at a time. Had considered buying one, and probably would once he retired – if he could still afford it then. But for now, he simply wouldn’t use one enough so there’d be no point. He knew one this big would cost a fortune. Certainly into eight figures. More than he could afford. He felt all the more sick with envy as he stared at the sleek beast. But it wasn’t even Ziyad’s, so what was the problem?
The problem was that it didn’t matter that the yacht wasn’t Ziyad’s. The fact was, Ziyad belonged in the world of the super-rich, and he knew it. And Jake, for all his fame and his own small fortune, didn’t belong in that world at all. He probably never would.
And Ziyad knew that too.
No sign of anyone else yet, so Leo and Jake took a seat on a bench by the stern.
‘Fuck me, it’s hot,’ Leo said, swigging from a now half-empty two-litre bottle of chilled water. They both had one. Had decided they needed to get the water down them before they touched their first alcohol of the day. But then the gaffer’s words rung in Jake’s ears. He didn’t need to drink at all. He shouldn’t be drinking at all.
‘You’re still interested in Hayley?’ Leo asked.
Jake shrugged.
‘I told her about Chantelle,’ Leo said. ‘Told her what she did to you.’
Jake glared at his friend. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because you’re being an idiot, moping around like the world is against you. You’ve been like this all summer. What happened to your balls? You need to take charge. Of Chantelle. Hayley. Whatever’s going on at West Ham. This isn’t the Jake I knew back at the academy.’
That much was true.
‘You’re a winner. You need to show it again.’
A group of people came down the steps across the way, Ziyad and Gus at the front, both in preppy gear. They’d look the part on the yacht. Macca, their new best mate, apparently, walked by their side. The five girls, bikinis and sarongs, were behind.
Wait, not just the five girls. Another couple of guys too. One next to… whatever her name was, the other next to Hayley, his arm around her shoulder.
‘Who’s that?’ Jake asked.
Leo looked over. ‘Another of Ziyad’s pals. Or Gus’s maybe. Can’t remember exactly. Felix is the short one. The other is Wesley.’ The other being the one with his arm around Hayley.
‘More entitled rich kids?’
Leo shrugged. ‘Dunno much about them. They arrived at the club last night but didn’t stay long. Didn’t chat to them really. All Ziyad said was that Wesley is well connected.’
‘Connected to what?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘He looks like a creep.’
Leo laughed. ‘Chill, man. Plenty of time to work your charm on Hayley. Look at him. He’s not a threat to the Ace.’
Maybe not. Wesley was tall, but scrawny. Messy long hair. An angular face. Pale features. Not much of a catch. Unless he was seriously loaded. And Hayley seemed pretty cosy with him.
‘Ah, the Ace is back,’ Ziyad called over.
Jake nodded in acknowledgement. He and Leo stood up. A series of greetings followed. A few hugs here and there. The one from Macca was the warmest, the one from Hayley limp, just like the handshakes from Felix and Wesley who seemed entirely disinterested.
Ziyad disappeared onto the boat. Two men appeared from within as he climbed on deck. Jake hadn’t realised anyone was on board. Both wore uniforms, like proper sailors from years gone by. For some reason Jake had expected Ziyad to be driving the craft. Driving? Whatever. He wasn’t sure whether he disliked Ziyad more or less, knowing that he wasn’t in command but that he had staff working for him.
