‘Day she died.’

Tomek wagged his finger in the direction of Chey’s computer monitor. ‘Do you have it on your screen?’

‘You can get it on yours, Grandad. It’s on the Internet. Anyone can view it.’

Bastard, Tomek thought. That was the sort of thing he would have said to Nick. In fact, he probably had said that exact thing to the chief inspector at some point. And now he had passed the mantle down to Chey. He was impressed.

‘Go on then, smart arse. Show me.’

Within a second, the constable had loaded up Tomek’s portal, opened a web browser and found Angelica’s Little Corner of the Internet. The homepage was simple. The logo of her website was at the top of the screen and looked like she’d typed it into WordArt and turned it into an image. On the right was a photo of Angelica in a bikini, with sunglasses the size of a snorkelling mask covering her face, a beach and palm trees behind her. Beneath it was a chronological list of all the blog posts over the years, from 2016 to present. On the left side of the page was the latest post, dated the day of her death. The timestamp said it had been posted a few hours before she’d met up with her friends.

Tomek leant closer and squinted at the screen. He’d noticed recently that as he got older his eyes had started to falter, blur a little more than they used to, but had done nothing about. He wasn’t going blind yet, so what was the worry?

Eyes almost shut, he began reading:

Hello lovely,

Another day of work done. Feeling better about myself today. Got a big night out with the girls tonight which I absolutely can’t wait for. I need to get ready in a couple of hours so I’m going to keep this one nice and quick. Should be a fun evening. Feels like we haven’t been out together forever. A proper girlies night. And to think it’s going to be the last one before the season starts again, which I’m buzzing about. Can’t wait to see all the girls’ Instas looking lush and lit in the coming weeks. It’s going to be a great send off, and I’ve got a feeling we’re going to go out with a bang!

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got time for, lovely. Until next time.

‘Who’s lovely?’ Tomek asked.

‘Why you are, Sarge,’ Rachel mocked.

Tomek shot her an unimpressed glance. ‘You know that’s not what I meant. Who do we think she’s talking to?’

‘Herself, maybe? As a reference in case she reads it later on?’

Tomek considered, turned to Chey, and asked, ‘Can you print them all out?’

‘Print them?’

‘Yes. You know, black and white ink on paper.’

‘But why? That’s going to make so much waste.’

‘The reasons are twofold, young Chey.’ Tomek raised two fingers up at the constable, and not the nice way round either. ‘One, so we can share them amongst the team and read them to expedite the process. Two, to prepare ourselves in case anything happens with the domain and we lose all the evidence.’

A stunned look crept across Chey’s face.

‘That’s right,’ Tomek replied smugly. ‘I know about domains. And that reminds me of the third reason.’ Tomek flashed his middle finger at Chey. ‘Because I told you to. Now Rachel and I have to go. We have a meeting with someone from last night to prepare for.’

‘They’re coming back for round two?’

Tomek reached into his backpack, removed the costume Chey had bought him, and launched it into the man’s lap.

‘You owe me fifty quid for that. I want my money back.’

‘I don’t think they accept things that have been worn, Sarge,’ Chey said, looking at the outfit with his beady eyes.

‘Who said anything about returning it?’

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Tomek was having difficulty looking at the man properly. Despite the fact Florian was nicely dressed in a smart white shirt with thin cotton jumper and a pair of navy chinos (the French just knew how to look good, didn’t they?), the only image Tomek had of the man was his slightly tanned naked body, large penis dangling between his legs, and a latex donkey mask placed over his head.

‘What time did you finish last night?’ Tomek asked, desperate to fill the silence.

Florian was of slender build, with little in the way of muscle and fat on him. He looked as though he’d been athletic in a former life, but had perhaps given that up in his pursuit of more decadent thrills. His shoulders were hunched and his frame seemed to shrink behind the table.

‘I left shortly after you both did. That is unusually early for me, as sometimes I stay the night in one of the rooms in the hotel, but I decided to head home. I was unable to think about anything else other than what you told me.’

The man was visibly shaken up and disturbed by the news of Angelica’s death. Tomek wondered how much of it was genuine, and how much an act.

‘What time do these things usually finish?’ Rachel asked.

‘Three in the morning. Sometimes four, if there are a lot of people. Basically, until people start to feel tired and go to sleep in the rooms.’

Rachel opened her notebook to a new page. ‘When did you first meet Angelica Whitaker? Can you remember the date?’

The man shook his head. ‘I think it was the first time that she attended The Nights of Eden.’

Tomek hated that name. It sounded like some sort of cult.

‘I think it was back in September,’ he added.

‘And how did you two meet?’

‘She was waiting outside when I got there, but before I kissed her hand, I spoke with her a little bit. I didn’t recognise her, you see, so I wanted to get to know her a little better, put her at ease. I liked the look of her. Her body was nice, make-up, hair. She looked very pretty. But she would not tell me her name. In the end, I called her my angel. Then I found her inside the room. At first she didn’t know what to do or who to speak with, but…’ He licked his lips. ‘But because she had already spoken with me, I guess you could say she felt more comfortable.’

‘You two took a room together?’

Tomek remembered how easy it had been for Rachel to secure a night with Florian.

‘Yes. I… I…’ He began scratching the back of his head, withdrawing more and more into himself. ‘I, you could say, I took her virginity. It was her first time there, and it was her first time with⁠—’

‘We get it,’ Tomek interrupted, raising a hand for the man to stop. ‘What happened after you’d “been” together?’

‘She went one way, I went another.’

Rachel scribbled away intensely, her writing gradually becoming less and less neat and legible as she struggled to catch up.

‘When did you see her next?’ she asked.

‘At the next meeting, a month later.’

Rachel waited until she’d finished writing everything down before continuing. They were on her time now. ‘And you two spent the night together again?’