‘No! He’s the only one who recognises my potential. You treat me like the canine unit treat their dogs. Loyal, useful but dumb.’
Patrick took a step back, shocked at the turn this conversation had taken. Gareth was visibly shaking now and Patrick was reminded of an argument with Gill, when she accused him of being uncaring, of taking her for granted. At home, he always admitted that Gill had a point. But here? What had he done to make the young DS feel like this? He tried to think back, was going to suggest that they arrange a meeting to talk about it – a necessary evil of being a manager, a higher rank, the kind of touchy-feely stuff he instinctively shied away from – when Gareth said, ‘Winkler’s a better detective than you.’
A flash of anger propelled Patrick towards the younger man, until their faces were just inches apart.
‘Say that again.’
‘You heard me.’
Patrick pulled himself up to his full height. But what happened next surprised him. Instead of reaching boiling point, the anger in his veins drained away as he realised how ridiculous this was. It wasn’t really like an argument with Gill; it was like being at school.
Patrick walked away and sat down, inviting Gareth to do the same.
Gareth stared at him, breathing hard, nostrils flaring.
‘Come on, Gareth, take a seat.’
To Patrick’s relief, the other man did as he was asked. He sat stiffly, his back straight, but he appeared to be calming down.
‘We can talk about this later, OK? When emotions aren’t running so high.’
Gareth nodded reluctantly. Now he appeared embarrassed.
‘Tell me what happened at the children’s home. What did they say about Mervyn Hammond’s visit?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on, Gareth . . .’
‘No, I mean they wouldn’t say anything. The manager refused to talk about it, and the staff were obviously hiding from me. All the kids were at school, so I couldn’t talk to them.’
‘Really? That’s very . . .’
‘Suspicious.’ Gareth had relaxed a little now, his body less rigid. ‘What have they got to hide?’
Before he could reply, Patrick saw Carmella walk past the room. He stood up.
‘All right. Let’s arrange a meeting, just you and me. I’ll talk to you later. I need to talk to Carmella.’
‘OK. Boss.’
‘Good man.’
Patrick hurried out of the room, calling to Carmella. As he hurried up to her, Gareth came out of the room and walked off in the opposite direction.
‘What’s up with your man?’ Carmella asked.
‘Gareth?’
‘Yeah. He looks like you just told him you don’t want to go out with him anymore.’
Patrick sighed. ‘Come on, I’ll update you on the way to the car.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘What would you say if I told you we’re going to talk to someone about erotically charged teenage fantasies involving boy-band members . . . and vampires?’
‘That I want a transfer?’
He smiled. ‘Come on.’
StoryPad’s British office was based in a converted warehouse close to Silicon Roundabout, where many of the UK’s Internet start-ups are based. Mervyn Hammond’s office wasn’t far from here, nor was Global Sounds Music. This investigation had drawn Patrick close to a world of glamour he’d once dreamed of living in. But now he’d seen what it was really like, he half-hoped the next murder investigation would start somewhere at the other end of the glamour spectrum, like the Kennedy Estate or an old folks’ home.
Patrick filled Carmella in on what he’d learned from Chelsea Fox, that she believed Jess and Rose had collaborated on a piece of fiction on StoryPad.
‘It’s the only link between them that we’ve been able to establish so far – assuming Chelsea isn’t mistaken.’
‘But there’s no connection to Nancy Marr through StoryPad?’
‘Hmm. I don’t think she’s quite their target market. But I spoke to one of Strong’s team who confirmed that StoryPad was in Wendy’s browser history, that she’d been looking at it in the days before she was killed.’
Carmella was checking out the website on her phone as Patrick drove. ‘I remember Martin mentioning it in one of the briefings, but, apart from that, I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Nor had I. But it’s incredibly popular among teenagers, especially girls. According to the “about” page on StoryPad, they’ve got over thirty million users, and there are something like ninety million stories on there. It’s pretty straightforward, really. Users can post pieces, either short stories or whole novels, which are divided up into chapters, and other users can read and comment on them. I guess the users compete to get as many reads as possible because then they get ranked higher, which leads to more reads. It’s like a big popularity contest. Plus, of course, it gives these girls an outlet for their creativity.’
‘I used to write poems, but I never wanted anyone to read them,’ Carmella said. ‘Ugh – cringe.’
‘Same with me and lyrics.’
‘Really? Were they any good?’
‘No, they were shit. But this is the Instagram generation, isn’t it? They share everything and they all want to be famous.’
‘You’re sounding like a grumpy old man again.’
They reached their destination and pulled up in a courtyard outside the old warehouse. ‘It goes without saying,’ Patrick said, ‘that the most popular category on the site is fan fiction, and stories featuring OnTarget make up about fifty per cent of that. I looked through some of it last night. My God, some of it is almost pornographic. They call it “shipping”, short for “relationshipping”, and imagine these . . . trysts between members of the band.’
‘And between band members and their fans?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the vampires?’
‘Oh, in a lot of the stories, Shawn and Blake and co happen to be immortal blood-suckers with a thirst for the blood of virgins.’
‘Well, I know what I’ll be reading tonight.’
They walked towards the front door. ‘I’m guessing you weren’t able to find anything that Rose and Jess had co-written?’
‘No. Either it’s buried so deep that I missed it or it was deleted.’ He paused for a moment, fixing his strategy in his mind. ‘It might be nothing. But if I’m right and Mervyn Hammond does turn out to be another false lead, this is all we’ve got.’
Chapter 47
Day 14 – Kai
Kai had only slept for two hours in the previous twenty-four since the party at Mervyn Hammond’s house – which was extra-annoying, because he was truly worn out. Never again, he thought, would he be persuaded to dress up in a stupid bow tie and an apron so long that it had come down to his shins, making his legs look even shorter, working his arse off for six quid an hour. Slave labour, that’s what it was! Not to mention the ingratitude of everyone involved. As far as he was concerned, it totally had not been worth it just for the sake of being in the same room as OnTarget and all those other D-list celebs. Hell, he got to be in the same room as OnTarget at the book signing just days before, and all that had involved was queuing in Piccadilly for an hour or two. The only thing that really made the whole thing worthwhile was what he’d left at the house. Now that had been funny.
His hands were still bright red and chapped from loading and unloading the dishwasher, and once he’d forked out for a solo cab home – that took two hours to arrive – he only had £23 wages left. He had assumed that he and Jade would be splitting the cab fare, but oh no, she had ‘sorted herself out’, as she’d informed him at the end of the party, the chill in her voice almost frightening. She had refused to tell him how she was getting home – but he could guess. That frigging bodyguard, doubtless.