Incinerator by Niall Leonard Page B

Nicky’s phone, and by the time I’d given up I’d felt ready to puke, and not from the effort of squinting at the screen. In youth custody I had met a few inadequate sickos who hated women, but not many with the sheer stamina and command of obscenity this guy had—I was pretty sure it was a guy, judging by his obsession withfemale anatomy. But he was always careful to omit any details that might identify him, or suggest exactly why he was picking on Nicky.
    Bisham just snorted. “Now she knows how it feels.”
    “What?”
    “I’ve been getting them for years. Threats. Obscenities.”
    “How many years?”
    “Two or three. Changed my phone number, changed my email address, changed my online name, but whoever it is always finds me again in a few weeks. I thought it was pathetic and kind of funny at first, like those sad old flashers in the park. Now …” She sucked her breath in through her teeth, and I thought I saw her shudder. “It just … it gets to you, you know? Wears you down.”
    “Have you reported them?”
    She snorted smoke and rolled her eyes at my naivety.
    “But Nicky knew about it?”
    “Yeah. She tried to track the senders down, got nowhere. Told me I should keep a note of every one I got so we could use them in evidence.Keep a note! I didn’t need to keep notes, I couldn’t get rid of the bloody things.”
    “And she never mentioned that she was getting them too?”
    “No, and I’m not surprised. They make you feel like a victim, angry and scared and—helpless. Nicky wouldn’t have liked that. And maybe she thought I’d blame myself for getting her involved.”
    “You trusted her?” I said. Suddenly I needed to know that I hadn’t been a mug to put my faith in Nicky. I wanted someone to back me up, even if it was an embittered woman I barely knew living in a derelict toilet.
    Bisham seemed surprised by the question.
    “Nicky? Yeah. I trusted her.”
    “And you have no idea who was sending the threatening emails?”
    “Oh yeah.” She laughed bitterly. “I know damn well who’s sending them. He’s in Dalston, doing six to ten for arson.”
    “Who?”
    “My ex-husband. Used to be my business partner, when we had a business. It’s his way of keeping in touch.” She screwed her cigaretteout in the sink. “And those stupid insurers still claim we’re working together.”
    “How the hell is he sending threatening emails from prison?”
    “Christ, it’s easier from the inside than it is out here. They can get anything, that lot. Drugs, women, guns. And get anything done for them.”
    What could Nicky have done to infuriate Bisham’s husband? I thought. Would he really have nobbled her just to get at his wife?
    Bisham seemed annoyed that I was staring into space. “So what’s all this about a squatter looking for revenge?” she said.
    I wondered what she was talking about, until I realized that was the story I’d given her on the doorstep.
    “Er—it’s just a theory,” I said. “I thought maybe a mate of the guy who got killed in that fire wanted to get back at you, and went for Nicky instead.”
    “You’ve spoken to him?” asked Bisham.
    “Not yet,” I said. I must have looked as sheepish as I felt.
    Bisham tossed her soggy cigarette stub towards the bin and missed. “So everythingyou told me earlier was bull, is that it?” she said.
    I tried to placate her. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to Nicky.” It didn’t seem to be working.
    “How the hell did you get hold of my address?”
    I realized too late I should have thought of an answer for that question before I arrived. I could hardly tell her I’d stolen Nicky’s files and Nicky’s phone. “Nicky sent me a letter that was meant to go to you,” I improvised. “I never got round to sending it back. That’s how I got your address.”
    “That’s all lies,” she snapped. She straightened up and jabbed her forefinger towards my face, its long fake nail like a razor blade painted