The Facebook Killer by M. L. Stewart

either prison pending further investigations.
    Golden_Delicious: Are you online?
    Daphne321: I
read the news too. Do you have the rest?
    Golden_Delicious: Of course. I am waiting.
    Daphne321: I’ll
be there in one hour.
     

Chapter 16
    Brian Bridgewater
     
    Age: 21. Status: Single. Likes: Motorbikes,
West Ham FC, lager and Chinese food. Dislikes: Being mistaken for
my twin brother all the time.
    It looked to me like Brian preferred
chatrooms to anything else. He seemed to spend most of his time
online. He made the mistake of using the same username and email
address for each forum, making him much easier to track. He was a
member of bike forums, West Ham chatrooms, gaming forums, you name
it he was on it.
    He rode a Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14, had a
season ticket for West Ham, worked as a computer games programmer
and lived with his identical twin brother in a flat in
Bermondsey.
    The flat was
above a fast-food takeaway. The café opposite gave us an excellent
view of their comings and goings. The only problem was that we
couldn’t tell the difference between the guilty apple and his
innocent brother. They had the same close-cropped blonde hair, same
height, same slight build and they even dressed alike. Brian worked
from home and his brother was “in between jobs” so that meant we
couldn’t even identify him from his workplace.
    Kalif was on his fourth cup of tea. To avoid
suspicion he had explained to the café owner that he was an
insurance investigator and he had reason to believe that one of the
residents over the road had made a fraudulent claim regarding a
traffic accident. A £500 bung had sealed her lips for the next
couple of days. He felt a little bit pissed off that she still
charged him for his cups of tea though.
    Kalif had spent almost two days sitting in
that café watching Tweedledum and Tweedledee come and go but there
was no pattern. He was starting to get frustrated. He tried his
best to contain the rage he could feel stirring deep inside. The
worst part was that we knew everything about this apple and I mean
everything. His whole life was splattered across the Internet for
the world to see; yet we couldn’t work out which one he was. Brian
had bragged online how even their girlfriends, when they had one,
couldn’t tell them apart.
    Truth be known, I knew this was going to be a
problem from the start. I thought the motorbike might have helped
us identify him but there was no sign of it. Kalif had followed
them to the match on Saturday but they were soon swallowed up by
the converging masses that flowed from the adjoining streets. Serge
had supplied us with an extremely expensive piece of equipment that
would hopefully solve our dilemma, allowing us to pick the fruit
and move on quickly.
    The van was parked around the corner, tucked
out of site in a pub car park. Kalif knew he had to get into the
flat to lay the trap, but the twins rarely left together. It was
either one or the other. All he could do was sit, wait, drink tea
and control his anger until they eventually left together. He
cursed himself for not doing it while they were at the match, he
would have had plenty of time to fit the flat out and if there’d
been any problems, go back and adjust things. Now he had to wait
for a second opportunity. Luckily the café was open 24 hours.
    I knew Kalif was chomping at the bit. This
was going to be his second kill and I could feel that he wanted to
make it a good one. There seemed to be a bit of rivalry going on
between him, Albert and Norman. Who could do the best job. Who
could impress me the most. Kalif was young, full of fire, a fire
that was rapidly turning to hatred. When he read the comments left
by Brian Bridgewater it flicked a switch inside him. “Dear Mr.
Neilson,” it had read, “I have been good friends with your client
for many years and I can assure you (and please feel free to quote
me on this) Abdul Hamid is in no way or form a rapist, let alone a
killer. The story on the street is