Chapter 6 Kirill
KIRILL
I deal with the corpse and all the contaminated items, and shower.
All the time, I’m thinking about her. Hurrying, because I want to discover everything about her.
When I finally get to my computer, I hack into her phone, and from there I’m in her email, and it’s easy to access everything about her.
Her name is Tess Summerfield. She’s twenty years old, and studying for a degree in psychology. She spends between four and eight hours on her phone every day, often on social media and a reading app she’s subscribed to.
Her bank account hovers just above zero mostly, popping up briefly after she’s paid each month. I track back a few years, and the incomings are just her wages and student loan, no gifts for her birthday or Christmas. The only way money enters her account is if she earns it.
Nearly all of her outgoings are her rent, bills, and food.
I chuck a few thousand from my own funds into her account because it makes me uncomfortable to see her balance so low.
I notice that on an online store she has a wish list of ebooks, which confuses me, since she also has a paid reading subscription app and gets books from the library.
It takes a moment, but I discover that they are the over-priced books that aren’t included, and have hundreds-long queues at the library.
A few clicks and I’ve put the books she wants into the unlimited subscription, plus others I think she’ll like.
It will take a while before the publishers realise how they suddenly opted into the contracts, and should be easily enough time for Tess to read them.
For good measure, I buy more copies of those books for the libraries, and ensure they have hundreds of anonymous donations to cover the cost.
Reading Tess’ reviews of the books she reads—honestly eyebrow-raising stuff featuring ice hockey players—is amazing.
It’s hours later that I emerge from my investigations of Tess.
I feel I’ve learned a lot of facts about her.
I’ve bought lots of things, and ordered even more to be purchased and brought to the house immediately.
Despite looking at every digital facet of Tess’ life, there’s a surprising itch.
I want to know her more, in person. Face to face.
Then a notification from one of my men buzzes on my phone. I frown in confusion as I check it, taken aback to find that it’s morning, and I’ve obsessed over Tess all night. I stretch, and pad down to the front door.
A pile of parcels lies there. Waiting.