I got my mobile out, got the camera ready, and restarted the PC. Same whine as the fan slowed then speeded up again, same beeping and whirring as it went through its booting-up process. This time there was no warning message from Ben. The screen filled with the same family picture and the normal login prompt. I shut it down again, waited for a minute, then turned it back on. It booted up normally.

The threatening message was a one-time deal, it seemed.

I called Naylor and explained what had happened.

‘Did you get a picture?’ he said, his tone sceptical. ‘Or a printout?’

‘Didn’t have time, it all happened too fast.’

‘A screengrab?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Did he sign off with his name?’

‘No, but this kind of computer stuff, hacking my PC to send me a message, this is pure one hundred per cent Ben Delaney. It’s him all over, it’s what he’s good at.’

I’m going to break you. Destroy you.

‘OK,’ Naylor said. ‘We may need to take your computer in at some point, Joe. Have our digital forensic guys look at it.’

He asked me to write down the text of the message, as best as I could remember, and email it to him.

Once I’d done that, I called up Google and typed in a new search.

This had gone far enough. It was time to get some legal advice.

Chapter 35

35

Peter Larssen was a short, round man in his early forties, with sandy-blond hair and a firm handshake. He gestured towards the hallway and followed me up two flights of wide wooden stairs. His office, at the firm of solicitors which bore his name, was warm and tastefully furnished, one wall entirely covered by bookcases and a large desk by the window. The room smelled of fresh flowers and floor polish.

After dispensing with the pleasantries, he ran through the firm’s hourly rates and the terms on which they would represent me. Signing my name at the foot of an agreement, I wondered whether I was being premature in seeking legal advice.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ Larssen said in his crisp Home Counties accent. ‘So, Joe, tell me what brings you to us today.’

He took notes on a yellow pad as I ran through a potted version of the events of the last four days.

‘So what can I do about Ben?’ I said finally. ‘To keep him away from my family, away from my wife? Stop him sending threatening messages? And make sure the police don’t waste any more time on him?’

‘I’m a fan of simple solutions, Joe. Have you tried talking to him?’

‘We were going to meet this morning, but it didn’t quite happen.’

‘Let’s give it a few more days, see if he calms down. Most people do. Meanwhile I’ll make a few discreet enquiries about him, see what I can find out.’