‘I sent a text,’ Vicki said quietly.

She’d stopped crying but her head was hanging so low it was difficult to hear.

‘Did you give him any other details after that?’ Tripp asked.

‘Yeah, the Pennywell one yesterday. I didn’t want to. By then I’d realised there was something else going on,’ she muttered.

‘What’s RJ’s surname?’ Ava cut in.

‘I dunno.’ Vicki looked panicked.

‘How do you know him, if you don’t know his surname?’ she continued.

‘Five-a-side footie every Wednesday night. Mixed teams. Not a lot of women play, though. You just turn up and get put into a team. I don’t make friends easily, especially not other girls, but I was always good at footie, so it seemed like a way to meet people.’ She hugged herself self-consciously. ‘The team ended up going down the pub together each week. RJ and me got talking regularly, exchanged numbers. I thought he was cool. He’s kind of loud and funny. He told me he was a YouTuber. I thought that maybe … you know. I liked him.’

Ava got it. It was hard enough being a tomboy at school. Excluded by the pretty girls, laughed at by the boys. The real world was supposed to be kinder, but it wasn’t. Girls with broad frames, better suited to loose-fitting jeans and chunky trainers than tight skirts and stilettos, never seemed to fit in. People made assumptions about them. Trying to find a boyfriend at a football club was smart under the circumstances.

‘You were hoping RJ was going to ask you out?’ Ava clarified.

Vicki turned scarlet as she nodded.

‘So his number’s in your phone’s contact list, then?’ Tripp asked.

‘Aye, under RJ football,’ Vicki confirmed. ‘That second time, he’d already figured out I’d be in the shit if anyone found out I’d given him the Queensferry Crossing details. Said if I didn’t do the same again, he’d get me sacked.’

‘Did he tell you what he wanted the details for on that occasion?’ Tripp asked gently.

‘Yes, I knew what he was up to by then,’ Vicki sniffed.

‘Well I don’t, so does someone want to enlighten me?’ the lawyer asked loftily.

‘He told me he wanted to stream the events live, and get people betting on who’d actually kill themselves and who’d survive. Only when I saw what he’d put online, it was nasty stuff. Really awful, about how long it would take for them to die or if they’d be killed outright. He’d contacted a bookie, I know that.’

Fuck, Ava thought. Her instinct had told her to arrest the bookie straight away. At least they had a crystal-clear shot of his face on camera.

‘Website name?’ Tripp asked.