Chapter 53
Fifty-Three
ROMAN
He notes the police car’s departure time automatically. Habit.
He also notes the other thing: the unfamiliar vehicle parked two doors down.
It’s probably nothing.
Probably.
From his window, Roman watches as Emily slips her key into the door and disappears inside the Coach House. The upstairs curtains twitch a bit, like she might be thinking of drawing them, but then they stay open anyway.
He’s been sitting there for about twenty minutes now, with no lights on, his screens dimmed and his headphones out. Just watching.
His heart’s been knocking against his ribs since he found it. Not the usual sort of buzz he gets from messing around in other people’s inboxes. Nothing like the rush he got when he and Sanj crashed the spa booking website and redirected its checkout to a page that played the Benny Hill theme tune.
This feels different because, this time, he’s found something real. Big, and bad, and something that’s not just about the dare of it. It’s not just about him, or boredom, or Oliver Sharpe being a knob. It’s far worse.
Because this time, it’s Emily. And . . . well, she didn’t seem to fit the pattern, but after his first lot of digging it seems she’s got secrets like everybody else.
Roman leans his forehead against his bedroom window. The glass is cold and it makes his skin prickle, but he’s got to man up. It’s time.
His palms sweat as he slides the laptop lid shut.
He’s never done this before. The actual face-to-face, real-world stuff of telling someone he’s been nosing around their personal data. Stuff that’s going to make him admit criminality and probably invoke Emily’s fury.
He slips on his trainers and yanks on a fleece. For once, he doesn’t tell anyone he’s going out, just slips out when his mum is on the phone to a customer.
He walks across the lane and stands in front of the Coach House for a few moments.
In the changing light, the building looms pale and shadowy, and his heart’s doing that sickly thumping thing again, the way it does before a physics test or when he’s done something properly bad at school, like the time he hacked into the mock exam papers.
He swallows, walks up the gravelled path and knocks.
After a few moments, he hears footsteps, and then the door opens. It feels weird to know so much about someone without ever having spoken to them.
Emily stands there. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, and there’s no make-up on her face. She looks pale . . . maybe even ill.
She blinks at him, looking confused and holding the edge of the door like she’s not sure whether to open it wider or shut it fast.
‘Hello, it’s Roman, isn’t it?’ she says, wary. ‘Is everything OK?’
He rubs the back of his neck and forces a smile. ‘Yeah, sorry to bother you. I just . . . I need to talk to you.’ He glances behind him, at his own house. ‘Can I come in?’
She hesitates and looks past him, as if someone might be out there watching them. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Roman. I just got back, and—’
‘Please, Emily,’ he says. ‘I really need to talk to you about something. It’s important.’
Reluctantly, she opens the door, and Roman steps into the hallway. The house smells of chemicals and rubber. His trainers squeak faintly on the wooden floor, but he doesn’t take them off.
Emily leads him into the bright kitchen. He’s still in the doorway when she folds her arms and looks at him. ‘So, what’s this about, Roman?’
He clears his throat, shifts on his feet.
‘I’ve . . . I’ve been looking into one or two things,’ he says, eyes flicking past her to the hallway in case he needs a quick escape. ‘Just like . . . online stuff. It’s kind of what I do. I notice patterns most people don’t.’
Emily frowns, looking wary. ‘What sort of patterns?’
‘The online patterns of certain people.’
Emily stares at him and says nothing.
He scratches the side of his neck. ‘I found things about Oliver that the police probably don’t have yet.’
Emily’s breath catches. ‘How?’
Roman hesitates. Then he says, ‘In ways you don’t want details of.’
‘Try me,’ she snaps. ‘Tell me what you’ve found.’
‘I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he says. ‘But I thought you should know that I know. And I don’t think you’re a bad person. You seem really nice. Too nice for that knobhead.’
Roman looks down at his hands. ‘I believe that you had nothing to do with what happened, even though I saw the messages.’
‘Messages?’ Her mouth droops.
‘I know you sent a couple of messages to someone interesting,’ he says quietly. ‘I found it almost by accident. But obviously . . . if the police find it, you’re—’
‘Oh my God, no.’ She leans back heavily against the wall like she might not stay upright without it. ‘It’s not what you think. You know nothing about me. Or Oliver.’
‘Oh, but I do, and I think he’s dangerous. Like properly dangerous. I’ve been looking into him. He’s not who he says he is.’
Emily stiffens, and a bit more colour drains from her face.
‘You’ve invaded my life,’ she says, eyes pinned to his. ‘What you’ve done is morally wrong. You should be ashamed.’
She’s talking to him like he’s a little kid. Roman feels a spike of anger. People film strangers crying in Tesco and stick it on TikTok for laughs. But he’s the creep because he read what she forgot to lock down?
Her eyes narrow. ‘You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.’
‘That’s not even his real name. He’s got a whole other identity, as you have, too. You changed it five years ago and only yours was a legal change.’
‘You know nothing. You need to forget all this nonsense and leave.’
‘I know you’ve both lived loads of other places before you came here. I don’t know the full story, but I know he’s done stuff. Illegal stuff. And now there are people looking for him. Dangerous people.’
She stands taller, suddenly. ‘Roman, you can’t get involved in this . . . you don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘I do, though,’ he insists. ‘I saw it with my own eyes, and I know exactly what I’m looking at. I know a background scrub when I see it, and his was too squeaky clean. But someone did a crap job, and they missed a whole bunch of stuff that implicates you.’
Emily’s lips part, and Roman takes a step forward.
‘I just thought you should know because, if he’s got you caught up in something, I don’t think you’re safe here on your own.’
‘I can’t . . . I don’t know what to do.’
Roman pulls at his ear. ‘Listen, I wanted to say, if you like, I can go to the police with all this stuff I’ve found. You can be free of him.’
A beat of silence, and Emily sways slightly.
She whispers, ‘Will the police see the messages I sent if they go through my stuff?’
Roman chews his lip. ‘They would’ve done, but I’ve removed them. I deleted them from anywhere a normal person would see them. I can’t promise what Forensics could pull back.’
‘You did what?’
‘If the police had seen them, they’d have thought you were involved. And even though that’s what it looks like, I know you’re not.’
‘You made that decision for me?’
Roman doesn’t answer. He can’t tell her the truth: the messages aren’t exactly gone. They’re just relocated.
He takes a step closer and touches her arm. Emily starts to shake, pulls away and loses her balance, staggering forward. Her knees give. She slides down the cabinet, one hand scrabbling for something to hold on to before landing on the floor with a bump.
‘Shit—Emily, are you OK?’ He crouches, checks she’s breathing. He can feel her pulse fluttering at her throat, but he panics and dashes to the kitchen, finds a glass, runs cold water.
By the time he returns, she’s sitting up. He places the glass of water beside her.
‘Leave me alone,’ she snaps.
Roman stands and feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.
It’s a message from Sanj.
GRN_DoR has been in touch. Mission accomplished . . . he has his info. Payment will arrive soon.
He looks at Emily, still on the floor. Then he moves down the hallway and looks out through the glass panel in the front door.
The unfamiliar car’s windscreen catches the light and someone shifts in the driving seat.
For the first time, it occurs to him that he might be too late deleting the evidence against Emily.
GRN_DoR might know everything.