He double-clicks the folder.

I wish I could see Tom’s face, not the policeman’s. On to the laptop screen tumble hundreds of video clips. All from Leah’s apartment. Videos of her changing, of her and Tom together, of her jiggling her breasts in the mirror as she turns this way and that to get a better view of her nakedness.

“What the…” exclaims Tom. “These aren’t my videos.”

“This is Leah?”

“It looks like it.”

“Well, Mr. Eagleton. You will agree that your laptop doesn’t really exonerate you, does it? I suggest we continue this conversation at the station.”

I laugh in Megan’s face. Mascara carves a groove down her face. “Is little Megan upset that her lovely boyfriend is a stalker freak?” I ask as I wipe a tear from her cheek. “Do you think he enjoyed watching you jiggling your bits like that? Oh don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s never seen those videos before now.” I break into a wide smile. “But I do think he might be just a little bit fucked. Especially when they find all the other treats I’ve left.”

A few months ago Tom had thought he’d been a victim of credit card fraud, because someone had been making some suspicious purchases on his account. To be honest, I’d assumed he wouldn’t notice; rich bastards don’t often notice a few extra hundred quid missing here or there, they just think they bought an extra round in a bar or something. I’ve met enough men like him to think that.

Turns out that he’s a ridiculously fastidious checkbook balancer, like my mother used to be.

She would sit at the kitchen table every month and go through every single transaction to make sure the bank hadn’t made a mistake. I know we weren’t as well off as she’d hoped we would be, but we weren’t so poor that we had to look out for every pound. And guess how many mistakes she found in the eighteen years I lived at home and had to watch this monthly charade? Yep: you’ve guessed it. Not a single one. Not ever. But still we would have to go through it, and as soon as I was old enough to count without using my fingers she would force me to help, the heady scent of ginger from traditional piparkakut in the air as we pored over the numbers. Although, to her credit, I am probably a lot more careful with my own finances as a result. So perhaps she was right all along.

But anyway, turns out that Tom is cut from the same cloth. So, he found the suspicious transactions and dutifully reported them to his bank. It will perhaps give him the plausible deniability he needs when the police find the cameras in Leah’s apartment that I bought with his money. Although perhaps it just shows what a long and intricate game he’s been playing.

“You’re framing Tom,” Megan whispers, her eyes wide as if she’s in shock.