LITMIR.BIZ

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      She tried to smile back. Everything felt wrong.

      She could see his distorted funhouse mirror reflection in the chrome kettle, looking at her. ‘Was it out the front of the house, or from upstairs, Miss Adiyiah?’

      ‘They didn’t tell you?’ The spoon was limp in her hand. ‘It was online. I saw it happen online.’

      ‘Online?’ His mouth turned down at the sides and she was struck by how much he resembled a fish. ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘I was on Periscope. I was watching a live stream video, of two boys and a girl. Well, I think it was two boys, one of them was holding the camera. There could have been more, I suppose, behind the camera.’ The thought horrified her. Who could sit by and watch that without intervening? She’d been unable to help. She wouldn’t wish that paralysing sensation of helplessness on anyone. Though if they had deliberately chosen not to act… that was worse.

      ‘Two boys and a girl?’ PC Jones had produced a notebook from his back pocket.

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘One of the boys was…’ The word swelled and lodged in her throat. She coughed. ‘He raped her. And when she tried to stop him he attacked her. With a bottle.’

      ‘And you saw this online?’ PC Jones said.

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded. Saying the words out loud hadn’t lessened their power, but made the whole thing feel more vivid. As if she were watching it happen again. Here. In this room.

      ‘And where was this video shot?’

      ‘I don’t know. I just clicked on a feed for London. So it must be somewhere in the city. Someone must have heard something: there was a lot of…’ She wanted to say screaming, but couldn’t. ‘Noise.’

      ‘I see. And what were the names of these boys and the girl?’ PC Jones said.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

      ‘You don’t know?’ His eyebrow raised on one side, and she saw the doubt in his eyes.

      ‘I can tell you the name of the account. Here, I wrote it down.’ She passed him the torn rectangle of note paper. Metronome02. It was burned on her memory, like those heart symbols floating up the screen. People had liked it; that’s what she couldn’t understand. Had they not understood? The policeman took the paper, his fish head nodding. She glanced at the laptop. You must do this. You must help the girl. ‘I can show you the video.’

      She walked past him before her nerve dropped. When she touched the mouse, the screen seemed to crack. The page or her eyes flickered, she couldn’t tell which. The screen was no longer linked to the feed; instead there was an error page: This user no longer exists.

      ‘It’s gone! They’ve deleted it.’ She clicked refresh. The same page appeared. ‘Oh God! Of course: because it’s evidence.’ She couldn’t stem the relief at not having to watch it again, or hear it. She thought of the screams. The panicked sound of the boy behind the camera. The gurgling.

      ‘So.’ PC Jones drew out the syllables of the word, twisting it in his fish mouth. ‘The video has vanished?’

      ‘You can see for yourself.’ She pointed at the screen. ‘They’ve deleted it.’

      ‘Right,’ he looked around the room, his eyes resting on Angela Davis’s Are Prisons Obsolete? If it had been one of her pupils she would have marched across the room and turned the book around. Made them concentrate. But as she watched him blow air out in a dramatic sigh, she felt more than just anger at his ill manners, she felt unease. ‘So you’re saying that you saw a video…’

      ‘A live stream,’ she corrected.

      ‘Right,’ he said. ‘A live stream during which you believe you saw a sexual assault and a stabbing take place, but you don’t know where this took place, or who these people were?’

      ‘I don’t believe I saw it, I know I saw it,’ she said.

      PC Jones grimaced. ‘Are you sure you couldn’t have misunderstood what you saw, Mrs Adiyiah?’

      ‘Yes.’ Heat rose in her cheeks.

      ‘Maybe it was a film, like a Hollywood one or something? They’re very realistic nowadays,’ he said, glancing at the vintage poster she had framed on her wall.

      He was dismissing her. As if she were, what? A confused old woman? ‘I know the difference between a film and real life, thank you.’

      He sniffed, taking in the perfume, and the vague sour stench that lingered in the flat. ‘Can I ask if you’ve been out at all tonight, Mrs Adiyiah?’

      ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’ She couldn’t believe he had the cheek to interrogate her.

      ‘Have you consumed any alcoholic beverages this evening?’ He looked at the glass of Shiraz next to the computer, where she’d left it.

      ‘What does that have to do with it?’ Shame bubbled inside her. How dare he judge her?

      ‘It’s late,’ said PC Jones. ‘Our minds can play tricks on us, especially if we’ve had a drink or two.’ He sniffed again.

      Did he think she’d drunk so much she’d been sick? ‘You think I’m making this up?’

      ‘I’m not saying that, Mrs Adiyiah.’ He held his hands out to placate her. ‘I’m sure you saw a very distressing video, and I’m sure you think it was real.’

      ‘It was real.’ This was preposterous. ‘There was a girl. And she was attacked by the man in the video.’

      ‘I thought you said it was a boy?’ PC Jones said.

      ‘A young man, seventeen, maybe eighteen. Not much more than a boy,’ she said.

      ‘Right.’ PC Jones nodded.

      ‘You should be writing this down,’ she said.

      ‘I have everything I need, Mrs Adiyiah.’ He was sliding the pad into his pocket. Putting the pen away.

      ‘You don’t believe me?’ The injustice of it hung in her words. He was dismissing her.

      ‘I believe you’ve seen something that’s upset you. And I believe that you think it’s real. But we’ve had no reports of anything that would tie in with what you’re claiming you saw.’ He gave her a simpering, sympathetic smile. ‘I suggest you have a nice cup of tea and a good night’s sleep, Kate. And I’m sure you’ll feel better after that.’

      ‘I’m a teacher,’ she said. As if it might make him listen, might make her real. ‘And I don’t appreciate your tone.’

      ‘Very nice,’ said PC Jones, heading toward the door. He was leaving. Ignoring her. She thought of the girl’s eyes, staring out at her, pleading. ‘You have to help her!’ She thought of the blood dripping onto the duvet. ‘She might not have much time.’

      He gave her another placating, watery smile. ‘I’ll be sure to mention it in my report. Good night, Mrs Adiyiah.’

      She could already guess what that report would say. She stood in shock as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t believe her. A rip had appeared in the world, plunging her London into that of the poor girl’s in the film. She’d ring the hospitals. Come forward as a witness. But what if she was still lying there? In that room? Not able to get help? Think, woman, think. Kate picked up her wine glass and downed the remains in one go. There was one more thing she could try, but it wouldn’t be easy. She turned the computer towards her and started to type.

       A

      The water

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