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There’s no mystery… Remembering her own words to Rebus, she laughed out loud. If there was no mystery, what was she worrying about? Why was she slogging her guts out? What was to stop her putting it all to one side and relaxing?
“Bugger it,” she said, sitting down at the table, pushing away the paperwork and pulling Derek Renshaw’s laptop towards her. She booted it up, plugging it in to her phone line. There were e-mails to be gone through, enough to keep her awake half the night if need be. Plenty of other files, too, that she hadn’t checked yet. She knew the work would calm her. It would calm her because it was work.
She decided on some decaf, this time remembering to turn the kettle on. Took the hot drink to the living room. The password “Miles” got her online, but the new e-mails were junk. People trying to sell insurance or Viagra to someone they couldn’t know was dead. There were a few messages from people who’d noted Derek’s absence from various bulletin boards and chat rooms. Siobhan thought of something and dragged the icon to the top of the screen, clicking on “Favorite Places.” Up came a list of sites, shortcuts to addresses Derek had used regularly. The chat rooms and bulletin boards were there, along with the usual suspects: Amazon, BBC, Ask Jeeves… But one address was unfamiliar. Siobhan clicked on it. Co
WELCOME TO MY DARKNESS!
The words were in dull red, the color pulsing with life. The rest of the screen was a blank background. Siobhan moved the cursor onto the letter W and double-clicked. Co
“Webcam,” she whispered. She was watching a real-time broadcast of somebody’s bedroom. Moreover, she knew now whose bedroom it was. Those headlights had done just enough. She got up, found her telephone and made the call.
Siobhan plugged everything in and rebooted the computer. The laptop was on a chair-not enough cable to stretch from Rebus’s telephone jack to his dining table.
“All very mysterious,” he said, bringing in a tray-mugs of coffee for the pair of them. She could smell vinegar: a fish supper probably. Thinking of the chow mein waiting for her at home, she realized how similar they were-takeaway food, no one to go home to… He’d been drinking beer, an empty bottle of Deuchars on the floor by his chair. And listening to music: the Hawkwind anthology she’d bought him last birthday. Maybe he’d put it on specially, to make her think he hadn’t forgotten.
“Almost there,” she said now. Rebus had turned off the CD and was rubbing his eyes with his ungloved, hot-looking hands. Nearly ten o’clock. He’d been asleep in his chair when she’d phoned, quite content to stay there till morning. Easier than getting undressed. Easier than untying shoelaces, fiddling with buttons. He hadn’t bothered tidying up. Siobhan knew him too well. But he’d closed the kitchen door so she wouldn’t see the dirty dishes. If she saw them, she’d offer to wash up for him, and he didn’t want that.
“Just need to co
Rebus had brought one of the dining chairs over to sit on. Siobhan was kneeling on the floor in front of the laptop. She angled its screen a little, and he nodded to let her know he could see it.
WELCOME TO MY DARKNESS!
“Alice Cooper fan club?” he guessed.
“Just wait.”
“Royal Society for the Blind?”
“If I so much as smile, you have permission to hit me over the head with the tray.” She sat back a little. “There… now take a look.”
The room was no longer completely dark. Candles had been lit. Black candles.
“Teri Cotter’s bedroom,” Rebus stated. Siobhan nodded. Rebus watched the candles flicker.
“This is a film?”
“It’s a live feed, as far as I know.”
“Meaning?”
“There was a webcam attached to her computer. That’s where the picture’s coming from. When I first watched, the room was dark. She must be home now.”
“Is this supposed to be interesting?” Rebus asked.
“Some people like it. Some of them pay to watch stuff like this.”
“But we’re getting a show for free?”
“Seems like.”
“You reckon she switches it off when she comes in?”
“Where would the fun be in that?”
“She keeps it on all the time?”
Siobhan shrugged. “Maybe we’re going to find out.”
Teri Cotter had entered the frame, moving jerkily, the camera presenting a series of stills broken up by momentary delays.
“No sound?” Rebus inquired.
Siobhan didn’t think so, but she tried turning up the volume anyway. “No sound,” she acknowledged.
Teri had seated herself cross-legged on her bed. She was dressed in the same clothes as when they’d met. She seemed to be looking towards the camera. She leaned forwards and stretched out on her bed, supporting her chin on her cupped hands, face close to the camera now.
“Like one of those old silent films,” Rebus said. Siobhan didn’t know if he was referring to the picture quality or the lack of sound. “What exactly are we supposed to be doing?”
“We’re her audience.”
“She knows we’re here?”
Siobhan shook her head. “Probably no way of knowing who’s watching-if anyone.”
“But Derek Renshaw used to watch?”
“Yes.”
“You think she knows?”
Siobhan shrugged, sipped the bitter-tasting coffee. It wasn’t decaf, and she might suffer for it later, but she didn’t care.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“It’s not so unusual for young girls to be exhibitionists.” She paused. “Not that I’ve come across anything like this before.”
“I wonder who else knows about this.”
“I doubt her parents do. Is it something we need to ask her?”
Rebus was thoughtful. “How would people get here?” He pointed towards the screen.
“There are lists of home pages. She’d just have to provide a link, maybe a description.”
“Let’s take a look.”
So Siobhan quit the page and went hunting through cyberspace, typing in the words “Miss” and “Teri.” Page after page of links came up, mostly for porn sites and people called Terry, Terri, and Teri.
“This could take a while,” she said.
“So this is what I’ve been missing out on, not having a modem?”
“All human life is here, most of it ever so slightly depressing.”
“Just what’s needed after a day at the coal mines.”
Her face creased in what could almost have passed for a smile. Rebus made a show of reaching for the tea tray.
“Here we go, I think,” Siobhan said a couple of minutes later. Rebus looked at where she was underlining some words with her finger.
Myss Teri-visit my 100% non-pornographic (sorry, guys!) home page! “Why ‘Myss’?” Rebus asked.
“Could be all the other spellings were already taken. My e-mail’s ‘66Siobhan.’”
“Because sixty-five Siobhans got there ahead of you?”
She nodded. “And I thought I had an uncommon name.” Siobhan had clicked on the link. Teri Cotter’s home page started to load. There was a photo of her in full Goth mode, palms held to either side of her face.