our Dropbox. The family one. The one we use to transfer photos and things and where I used to put my homework back when you wanted to check it over before submission. It’s Dad’s section of it. I clicked on it by mistake.’
This makes me feel ever so slightly better. If James had anything to hide, surely he’d be a little more savvy about protecting it than to upload it all to the family Dropbox account, the place I store family holiday snaps and copies of dull household documents like the TV insurance details?
‘Tap on one of the files listed here.’ His voice sounds strained, as if he’s trying to calm himself.
I look over at him. ‘If you’re really that worried, I can look at these later? We don’t have to do this now.’ As I say this, though, I know there’s no chance of me happily going back downstairs to carry on with the cooking. I need to know what this is about.
‘No, I’m fine,’ he says, and moves to the edge of the bed, crouching forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks like he’s about to take a particularly gruelling exam.
I focus back on the iPad and, as instructed, tap on the first in the list of files. They’re all unnamed, save for a list of seemingly random numbers and the file type. A document appears on the screen and I turn the device to view it in portrait mode.
A company logo is the only thing on the page. Clover Shore Construction is all it says, with a small clover leaf at the end of it. Underneath, in all-caps Times New Roman font, it says: BUSINESS PROPOSAL.
I flick the page with my hand and it changes, this time bringing up what looks like some kind of CV or personal profile, with a photo at the top of the page, followed by a name, date of birth and separate categories filled with bullet points. I look at the photo. It’s of a young woman. She isn’t looking into the camera; her eyes seem vacant, staring off into the distance. There’s something about her expression that I find quietly alarming. It’s as though she’s drunk or stoned and doesn’t quite know she’s having her photo taken. Although it’s a colour photo, her skin is pallid and grey, her dark hair untidy and her face drawn in and gaunt-looking.
‘Who is this?’ I say out loud, though more to myself than to Stephen.
‘Read the information. It’s pretty specific.’
I take a look and see what he means.
Name: Ashley Brooks
Date of Birth: 12 March 1989
Occupation: Officially unemployed, ex-stripper, occasional sex worker
Area: Ilford, East London
Reference: Daffodil
‘I’ve never heard of an Ashley Brooks,’ I say. ‘This is … this is very strange.’
‘It gets more detailed as it goes on,’ Stephen says.
I continue to read.
Lifestyle details:
• Ashley is dependent on a variety of legal and illegal substances, including heroin and cocaine. Best knowledge indicates she’s been using since she was eighteen.
• She’s rarely seen out of her flat. When she is, it’s usually to buy alcohol from the independent off-licence near her council flat in Ilford. She has been seen shouting expletives at random passers-by and crying in public.
• She doesn’t own a car, nor has she been observed using public transport within the last six months.
• She lives alone. Occasionally young men are seen delivering packages to her door – believed to be illicit substances. Sometimes they go inside, but usually do the transactions on the doorstep.
Crime:
• She’s been twice observed having sex in public, once in the car park of the Billington Estate where she lives, and on another occasion was issued with a caution by police after being observed performing oral sex on a young man at a bus stop late at night.
• She was arrested and charged with possession of a Class B drug in April 2012. She did not serve prison time.
• She was arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour near her flat in September 2016. She was released without charge.
I look up from the iPad at Stephen. He’s still looking at the floor.
‘How would anyone know all this if it didn’t come from the police or lawyers or somewhere?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. That’s what makes it so strange.’
I look back down at the screen.
Support network:
• Best knowledge suggests Ms Brooks has not been in contact with her mother or father for many years. Her mother is currently serving time in HMP Bronzefield in Surrey for GBH and the attempted murder of a man she was previously living with. Her daughter has never visited her.
• It is not believed Ms Brooks has any close friends or acquaintances outside the group of men who deliver her drugs.
• She does not have a consistent romantic interest or sexual partner.
• She has no siblings.
Risk:
• Ms Brooks is considered a low-risk potential investment.
• Trial runs, completed by our staff, have been highly successful, embarked upon by men posing as tax officials, social services workers and gas-meter inspectors. These have been undertaken using both single and multiple participants. She has reported none of these incidents and her behaviour has not changed other than a potential increase in drug purchases. We believe it is highly unlikely any reports to police would be made after future appointments of this nature.
• During a trial run, a blood sample was taken. Ms Brooks tested negative for HIV or hepatitis as of August 2019. In spite of this, use of contraception is always strongly advised.
I finish the page and stare back at Stephen. ‘I really don’t know what to say about this,’ I tell him. It’s the truth. I’m completely baffled and appalled. This Ms Brooks seems to have had important information meticulously detailed. Everything gathered together, from her lifestyle and sex life to her criminal record. And all of it points to a very vulnerable, unwell young woman.
‘I don’t know what this is, but I think … I think we best …’
‘Best what?’ asks Stephen, looking up at me, moving his eyes, apparently reluctantly, away from the floor.
‘I don’t know. It just seems so likely this is part of your dad’s work. I know it’s not pretty, but maybe they gather information for the police or some law enforcement
