Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  ‘Get off me, lad. That’s my sergeant.’

  ‘You need to leave the building,’ the guard was shouting. ‘This is a full evacuation.’

  ‘Secure the cordon, lad,’ Chips commanded. ‘What is it?’ He was at her side. Panting. She still had her hand up, a signal to hold Lorna in place. Keep her calm. She couldn’t let her out until they knew any chemical risk had been contained.

  ‘Suspect package,’ Freddie said.

  ‘Who’re you?’ Chips said. Nasreen looked away from Lorna for just a second. Heard the girl whimper and snapped her head back. There were too many of them here. Too many at risk.

  ‘Freddie Venton.’ Freddie’s voice was shaking.

  Sweat pooled on Nasreen’s lower back. She itched to tug her shirt free, but didn’t dare bring her arm down: it was pacifying Lorna. She’d brought Freddie here; she was putting her life at risk. ‘Can you take Freddie outside please, sir.’

  ‘Not until you tell me what the hell is going on …’ Chips’s voice collapsed as he caught sight of the words, printed in capitals on the top of the package: WATCH ME.

  Chapter 21

  Wednesday 16 March

  16:55

  T – 16 hrs 35 mins

  Nasreen watched as Green flashed her ID at the uniformed officer guarding the cordon and he lifted it for her to duck under. Behind them, the bomb disposal unit were packing their long-armed robot back into their van. The officer who’d investigated the package, resembling a large, threatening mole in his protective overalls and reinforced diving bell helmet, was now stripped of his weighty equipment. He was laughing with his team in an unremarkable t-shirt and trousers. What was it like to spend your life approaching what could be explosive devices by choice? She knew a lot of the unit were ex-army.

  ‘Thought you could do with one of these.’ Green held up a bag from Espress-oh’s.

  ‘You lifesaver, how did you get past the guard?’ As potential contamination risks, Lorna, Chips, Freddie and she had been filed out to a separate area. Swabbed down and scanned in the same way she imagined the package had been. All of them were clean. No traces of explosives. No traces of biological or chemical weaponry.

  ‘I told him you were my boss and diabetic, and if I didn’t get this to you, you’d be passing out.’ Green opened the bag and passed over a coffee.

  Nasreen grinned. ‘No wonder he jumped to it: I’ve already caused them enough aggro.’

  ‘I’ve got one for Chips, Venton, and the reception girl too.’

  Chips and Freddie were sitting on the open back of a van just over from them. They’d managed to find some fags and someone daft enough to give them a lighter this close to a bomb scare. Lorna had proved herself more resilient than Nasreen had given her credit for. Once it was clear she was safe, she had been keen to get back inside. Especially as she’d left her handbag and phone there.

  ‘Any sign of Saunders or the guv?’ She knew Chips had spoken to Saunders on the phone.

  ‘Nah, they were stuck round the back I think. They roped off two streets on both sides, had everyone stay inside and away from the windows.’

  ‘And all for nothing, hey? That’s going to win me some brownie points,’ she grimaced. The money this charade would’ve cost. Had she overreacted? Two little words had caused all this. But the thought of what was in the box was still frightening. Sealed within all that tape. She didn’t want to think what might be that shape and size. Watch me. You used your eyes to watch, didn’t you? She tried to stem the scenarios that were running through her mind.

  Green turned as Matt Snow, a senior crime scene manager, emerged from inside the building, scanned the small crowd and headed for them. ‘Here we go,’ Green said.

  ‘Sir.’ Chips eased himself off the truck, stubbed his cigarette out and came to join her as they watched Matt walk the length of the street to reach them; a lone white SOCO-suited figure against the empty road and towering buildings.

  ‘The moment of truth,’ Chips muttered grimly. Out here they were shrouded in the cold shadows of the buildings behind them. The eerie silence of the evacuated street added to the feeling of unease. Even the pigeons had scarpered.

  ‘McCain.’ Matt came to a halt the other side of the fluttering tape. He could only be five foot eight, but he still curled his shoulders towards the ground, as if he were permanently trying to hide. He had a nice face when he smiled, but he seemed to do that rarely. This was the third time she’d worked with him. Each time a serious crime. ‘This your party, is it?’

  ‘I radioed it in,’ said Nasreen.

  ‘We had reason to believe we were dealing with something nasty, Matt,’ Chips said. His hands in his pockets were an attempt to keep things casual; there’d be time to answer questions later. ‘You open it up yet?’

  ‘Thought you might want to see,’ said Matt, looking at Nasreen, ‘as you caused all this fuss.’

  ‘Aye.’ Chips stood forward, holding the tape for her to duck under.

  Freddie’s voice from behind made her jump. ‘Can I come?’

  ‘No,’ Chips and Nasreen said in unison.

  Freddie looked pissed off, but it was better this way. She didn’t want to give her any more images to have nightmares over. Nasreen knew she was privileged to be going in with the DI, and tried to feel it. A big part of her wanted to stay far away from the package. ‘Green, keep an eye on Freddie and Lorna. Hopefully it won’t be too much longer before we can all get back.’

  ‘Bloody freezing out here,’ Freddie muttered as they walked off – Matt in front, Chips and Nasreen a stride behind; in formation, like flying ducks.

  ‘Sir, I’m sorry about bringing Freddie back without clearing it.’

  ‘I’d be thankful you had half the bomb squad keeping you and Saunders separated, lass.’

  ‘The messages, the original note regarding Lottie, the photo, and the video – they were all sent to Freddie too.’

  Chips cricked his neck to look at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Whoever has Lottie, whoever is sending them, they want Freddie involved.’

  ‘That’s another link to your Hashtag Murderer case.’

  ‘I know.’ The more things stacked up, the more she doubted the prison officer’s promises that no communication was getting in or out from Apollyon.

  They were nearing the door; the glass front of the building loomed up, opaque from the cloudy sky, a grey marble tombstone.

  ‘The SOCO team get anything off the package?’ Chips asked.

  ‘Whoever handled it wore gloves,’ Matt answered. The reception had been transformed into a crime scene. The package was still on the desk. A glistening masking-tape hive, around which the suited SOCOs buzzed. Lorna had already confirmed it was a normal courier who delivered it – the one who brought the stationery supplies. It had been sent via a standard firm, picked up from a Mail Boxes in Angel. They had no cameras, and couldn’t remember anything about who’d brought the package in. ‘There was a hair caught in the tape: long, blonde.’

  Nasreen’s stomach hardened: Lottie had long blonde hair. The remaining SOCOs stood to the side as they drew near. Matt passed them gloves and masks. She tried to keep her breath steady as she pulled the mask over her face, made sure all her hair was tied back. Chips’s gloves snapped against his hands. Black powder marks covered the box where it had been dusted for prints. Matt picked up a scalpel from the reception, and she saw that he’d already cut a careful incision all the way round the top of the box.

  ‘Ready?’

  She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘Aye,’ said Chips. This was it. Watch me.

  Matt carefully worked the scalpel round the remaining section of the top, disturbing as little of the material as possible. Behind her the SOCOs gathered. Waiting. She was glad her face was covered. Matt placed the scalpel down and with two hands he slowly lifted off the top. Nasreen caught sight of a weft of blonde hair and felt the floor give under her. Nightmares reared up from the box.

  ‘Fu
cking hell,’ Chips said.

  ‘What is it?’ someone asked from behind.

  Matt had put his hand in and gently lifted out a ponytail of blonde hair, roughly shorn at the top, and still held in place by the pink band Nasreen recognised from the video of Lottie.

  ‘He cut her hair off?’ Chips sounded aghast. Angry.

  She forced herself forwards and steeled herself to look into the box. Inside was a photo, printed from a normal printer on regular A4 paper – a grainy colour shot of Lottie’s hair being held aloft like a trophy. In the background she could see the girl, tears streaming down her face. ‘She’s still alive.’ She held it up to Chips. ‘There’s still time. We can still find her.’

  Chapter 22

  Wednesday 16 March

  17:30

  T – 16 hrs

  Officers and support staff were filing back into the building. The excitable hum sounded like children returning to the classroom after sports day. Everyone was whispering about what might have been in the package. No one but the team would be told. Chips had spoken to Burgone on the phone, while Nasreen had arranged for the package to be prioritised at the lab. Matt Snow had packed Lottie’s hair into a plastic evidence bag, dehumanising her further. Who would do such a thing? The need to look into the person calling himself Liam, who’d published the obscene images of Chloe and Lottie, burned brighter still. If he had her, they had to reach him fast. The photos, the video, and now Lottie’s hair – it was escalating.

  Nasreen made it to three metres from the office before DI Saunders caught up with her.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Cudmore?’

  ‘All right, lad.’ Chips indicated the empty meeting room. ‘This isn’t the place.’

  Saunders ignored the door and stepped closer to her. His voice was restrained, simmering, ticking down to Armageddon. The fear of the explosion greater than the force itself. It was an interrogation technique she’d seen him use on suspects. ‘You disobeyed a direct order bringing Freddie Venton here. That’s a disciplinary offence, Sergeant.’

  ‘Give over, Pete, we’ve lost enough time on this. I told you I cleared her to speak to the lass.’

  ‘You’ve always been a sucker for a pretty face, Chips.’

  A hot wash of anger poured over her. ‘There are valid reasons to talk to Freddie in relation to this case. The suicide notes sent allegedly from Chloe Strofton and Lottie Burgone were both acrostics of “Apollyon.” The perp also sent copies of Lottie’s messages and videos directly to Freddie. Freddie was heavily involved in the Apollyon case: she could provide intelligence that could be key.’

  ‘She’s a civilian. She shouldn’t be anywhere near this building,’ said Saunders.

  Chips folded his arms, his face unmoved. ‘I’ve been around long enough to know that when someone offers you help on a case – especially one like this – you take it, Pete.’

  ‘What help?’ Burgone appeared round the corner. Her heart lurched. His tie was loosened at the collar, as if he’d been tugging at it. A hint of red rimmed his eyes. Had he been crying? Had he seen his sister’s hair reduced to evidence in a plastic baggie?

  Nasreen repressed the desire to reach out and touch him. Instead she seized her chance. ‘Sir, I have reason to believe there is a possible link between the Apollyon case I worked on previously and …’

  ‘Lottie?’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Not a hundred per cent, but enough to ask Freddie Venton, the woman who consulted on that case, to help us. If she can.’

  ‘Your old school friend?’ Burgone said.

  This time she felt her ears burn. It sounded preposterous. ‘She’s a digital expert.’

  ‘I’m not happy about this, guv,’ Saunders said.

  ‘They’ve turned up some good, and relevant, leads,’ said Chips. She could kiss him.

  ‘Are we any closer to finding who took Lottie?’ His sister’s name crashed and broke over his tongue.

  ‘We’re following up a number of enquiries,’ Chips answered.

  All of which had been delayed by the last hour’s actions. Was that deliberate? Had the kidnapper sent the hair to slow them down?

  ‘I’d like to keep Freddie involved, sir. In an advisory role. She’s worked with the police before. My former DCI, Moast, will vouch for her.’ Hopefully. They hadn’t had the best working relationship, but ultimately she thought he’d been won round by Freddie’s commitment, if nothing else.

  ‘Do you think she’ll be helpful, Chips?’ asked Burgone.

  ‘I think it’s worth a gamble.’

  Burgone seemed to weigh the options before him. ‘Okay. Miss Venton stays.’ Nasreen felt like punching the air. Saunders tutted. ‘But she’s not to go anywhere near the general public. I want her involvement kept on the quiet, and her movements restricted to this building. At no point are the press to get wind that we have anyone other than us working on the case. Do I make myself clear?’

  He was looking at her, his eyes those of a boss. It was as if nothing had happened between them. Perhaps that was the way it was going to be. She pushed her hurt and confusion aside. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to the superintendent.’ Burgone looked uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have told her about them? No, she was being ridiculous. ‘She thinks it would be best if I stepped down.’

  Nasreen felt her stomach drop away.

  ‘None of us want that,’ Saunders said. Chips shook his head.

  ‘As things … progress,’ Burgone said, ‘I can’t trust myself to make the best calls.’

  If anything else was sent to them … As time ticked down to the deadline … It was too awful to think about. They all murmured their dissent. What would she do if it were her sister? Was it possible to be this close to a case and not allow yourself to be compromised? She’d been close to Chloe’s parents once. But she hadn’t told anyone about that.

  ‘The superintendent thinks that if we catch the bastard who did this …’ Burgone’s words spat and fizzled to nothing on the ground.

  Chips reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ll get him, Jack.’

  Burgone regained his composure. ‘Yes, and when we do I don’t want my involvement to risk the case in court.’ Nasreen tried not to think of the Stroftons.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, and I’d appreciate it if you keep me up to date on any developments.’ They nodded. ‘And I’d like you to act up on this one, Pete,’ he said to Saunders.

  Shit.

  ‘Pete has experience with a number of previous kidnap cases, and I know he’ll make the right calls if necessary.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Chips. Nasreen felt sick. She might have got Freddie onto the team, but at what cost? Saunders distrusted her, and now he was in charge. Or at least he was for the next twenty-four hours. Again the timeframe loomed before her: a perfect before and after. Except she couldn’t picture what the after looked like. Or just how bad it might be.

  ‘Thank you.’ Burgone’s eyes dropped to the floor, as if he’d spent every ounce of energy he had left. They watched him walk down the corridor.

  ‘Let’s get on with finding this Liam lad.’ Chips plodded through the office door.

  Nasreen quickly went to follow him, but Saunders blocked her path. He put his face very close to hers, the smell of mint chewing gum strong on his breath. Her teeth clenched. He spoke quietly, but the menace in his words ran like cold fingers over her body.

  ‘You may have charmed the boss and Chips, but I’m not such an easy play.’

  Every muscle in her body was screaming to step backwards. She daren’t breathe.

  ‘I’m in charge now, and I’m watching you, Cudmore.’

  Chapter 23

  Wednesday 16 March

  17:44

  T – 15 hrs 46 mins

  Green handed her another wad of paper churned out from the printer. Freddie saw the comments broken by the odd photo. This was going to take time. She looked at her
phone. They had just under sixteen hours left until Lottie would be killed. She didn’t doubt it now. Not after seeing her hair. Each time she closed her eyes the video replayed in her mind, the girl’s frantic yanks to get away. How scared must she be? Chips’s puffy face was puckered into a series of frowns; he’d told her and Green what to get on with. It’d taken all this time to get the reams of threads on Are You Awake printed. Time they didn’t have. There was no sign of Nas. Saunders had barely looked at her.

  ‘Is this Nas’s desk?’ She pointed at the only one with a box of tissues on it. ‘Can I sit here?’

  ‘Sure.’ Chips’s face relaxed into a smile, all the creases now pointing up. He seemed sound.

  ‘You okay with half?’ Green asked.

  ‘I’m fast.’

  Green raised her eyebrows in amusement.

  Had she called her girlfriend to say she’d be late home? Freddie had texted her mum, said she’d gone to visit Nas. It wasn’t a lie as such. Perhaps that’s where Nas was – speaking to her parents. Or Lottie’s brother. This place was a warren. Thank god they’d only been on the ground floor when the evacuation happened.

  Nas’s desk was spotless, obvs. Freddie opened a drawer, looking for a highlighter, and found one compartment of blue pens, one of red pens, one of pencils. Where were the screwed-up receipts? The chewed pens? The tights? The empty cans of deodorant? Chips’s desk was piled high with papers, coffee mugs balanced like a totem pole. That was more like it. She selected two red pens from Nas’s drawer, put one on the desk to use on the printouts, and one in the blue pen compartment. Saunders’s desk was as regimented as Nas’s, the only personal touch a framed photo of him with two other guys, his arm across the shoulder of one. They were all in lycra, gold medals round their necks, sweaty and grinning from whatever sporting event they’d just triumphed at. She shut the drawer as Nas entered.

  ‘How many pages are there in total?’ Freddie leafed through the pile of printouts.

  Green’s computer screen displayed Are You Awake in all its lurid glory, a photo of a woman in what looked like her early twenties, on all fours, naked, was visible from here. ‘167.’