Kelly didn’t. What was the point in the job she and her colleagues did? In the CPS files, the court system, the prison service? What was the point in fighting for justice if victims – people like Lexi – couldn’t be bothered to support proceedings?
She gave Craig the second date and time. Tuesday 24 November; around 1830 hours. Zoe’s second encounter with Friedland; when he had accompanied Zoe from the train at Crystal Palace to the exit, then asked her out for a drink. Had he downloaded other women’s profiles from the website? Tried the same approach with them? Andrew Robinson had seemed confident his Cyber Crime team would identify the man behind the website, but how long would it take? In the meantime Kelly was treating the case in the same way she’d tackle a drugs ring; from the bottom up. Gordon Tillman had refused to answer her questions, but perhaps Luke Friedland would be more talkative.
‘This him?’ Craig pressed pause and Kelly nodded.
They were walking towards the barriers; Kelly recognised Zoe’s red waterproof jacket, and the more formal overcoat she’d seen Friedland wearing in the previous clip. Exactly as Zoe had said in her statement, as they approached the ticket barriers, Friedland waited, letting Zoe go first.
Kelly smiled as she saw Friedland tap his Oyster on the barrier. ‘Gotcha,’ she muttered, noting down the precise time on the screen. Picking up the phone, she dialled from memory. ‘Hey, Brian, what’s new?’
‘Same shit, different day; you know how it is,’ Brian said cheerfully. ‘How’s the secondment going?’
‘Loving it.’
‘What can I do you for?’
‘Tuesday twenty-fourth November, Crystal Palace, second barrier from the left, 1837. If it helps, the system should show a Mrs Zoe Walker immediately preceding it.’
‘Give me a tick.’
Kelly heard the tapping of Brian’s keyboard. He was singing under his breath, and Kelly recognised the same tuneless refrain he’d been humming ever since she had known him. Brian had done his thirty years in the job, kick-started his pension then returned the next day to a new job with London Underground.
‘I’d be bored at home,’ he’d told Kelly, when she’d questioned why he wasn’t off enjoying his retirement. After thirty years working in London there was nothing Brian didn’t know about the city; when he finally retired he’d be hard to replace.
‘Any idea who you’re after, Kelly?’
‘Definitely a man,’ she said, ‘possibly a Luke Friedland.’
Another pause, then Brian chuckled; a throaty, phlegmy sound fuelled by coffee and Benson & Hedges. ‘Not very imaginative, your chap. His Oyster’s registered to a Luke Harris. Want to have a stab at what street he lives on?’
‘Friedland Street?’
‘Got it in one.’
They were waiting for him when he got home from work, stepping out of the car as he paused to enter his door code.
‘Could we have a quick word?’ Kelly said, showing her warrant card and watching Harris intently. Was she imagining it, or was there a flash of panic in his eyes?
‘What about?’
‘Shall we go up?’
‘It’s not terribly convenient; I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight. Perhaps you could leave a number …’
‘We can take you down the station, if you’d prefer?’ Nick said, moving from behind Kelly to stand next to her. Harris looked from one to the other.
‘You’d better come in.’
Luke Harris lived in a penthouse apartment in W1, the highest of six floors housing more modest flats. They stepped out of the lift into a vast open-plan space, the gleaming white surfaces of a rarely used kitchen to their left.
‘Very nice,’ Nick said, walking across the living room and looking out at the city. To the right the BT Tower loomed over its neighbours, and Kelly could see the Shard and Heron Tower in the distance. In the centre of the room two overstuffed sofas sat facing each other, separated by a huge glass coffee table; its surfaces piled with glossy travel books. ‘Read all these, have you?’
Harris was nervous, tugging at his tie and looking first at Kelly, then at Nick. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Does the name Zoe Walker mean anything to you?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘You asked her out for a drink last week, outside Crystal Palace station.’
‘Ah! Yes, of course. Zoe. She said no.’ Kelly detected a note of indignation which didn’t match the careless shrug Harris had given.
‘Unusual for a woman to resist your charms?’ Kelly said, her voice thick with sarcasm. Harris had the grace to blush slightly.
‘Not at all. It’s only that we’d got on rather well, I thought, in the short time we’d spent together. And although she was attractive she must have been pushing forty, so …’ he tailed off under Kelly’s withering stare.
‘And you thought she might be a bit more grateful?’