Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  The atmosphere in the room changed. Her ears popped. Breathe: one, two, three.

  He walked in.

  Chapter 42

  Thursday 17 March

  06:30

  T – 3 hrs

  The Hashtag Murderer was wearing maroon jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt, like the man Freddie’d seen in the cell. Two broad officers flanked his movements, like bouncers from a dodgy club. They’d obviously picked those who would tower over him, but it made no difference. He didn’t need bulk or muscle: his presence filled the space, sucking all the oxygen out, like a vacuum. Nas inhaled.

  As if he were out for a stroll and had decided to pause on a park bench, he took the chair opposite. His skin was flat, like he’d been moulded from putty. He’d been without sunlight, fresh air, for a while. Prison skin. Effortlessly he held Nas’s gaze, and then slowly, swivelling like the camera, he turned to look at her. His eyes roamed over her. A fingernail on her right hand punctured her palm.

  ‘I need water.’ His voice dominated the room.

  The officer behind them exited quickly. Nas could hear his hurried steps outside. The Hashtag Murderer stared at her. She didn’t blink. Couldn’t move.

  The officer came back with a small plastic glass of water and placed it on the edge of the table. Why isn’t he in handcuffs? Why isn’t he restrained? He picked up his drink and brought it to his thin lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He gave a refreshed sigh. A smack of his lips. Vomit threatened her throat.

  Nas started next to her, like she’d had an electric shock. ‘Are you communicating with anyone outside of the prison?’

  He smiled, resting his finger in the condensation ring left by the cup. Five pairs of eyes were trained on him. He wiped his damp finger along the table, staring at Freddie. Her molars reached for each other. He was making a shape, a jagged line. He’s drawing my scar. With each movement she could feel him working his finger into her, probing, peeling it back, pulling her apart.

  ‘You sick fuck,’ she said. The officers bristled.

  ‘Someone is using your name.’ Nas’s knuckles were transparent from gripping her pen and paper.

  He looked at her languidly. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Someone is using Apollyon. On suicide notes. On threatening notes.’

  He lifted his finger to his mouth, sucking the water drop.

  ‘Is it you?’ A tiny tremor shook Nas’s words.

  Heat accelerated through Freddie. There wasn’t time for games. Somewhere out there Lottie was being held, tortured, her life in danger. ‘An innocent girl is missing: stop fucking around!’

  He turned his head very slowly, savouring the view, until he was looking straight at her. Into her. His eyes burned through her skin. Slashed at her. Tore her to ribbons. Red red ribbons. The room thrummed with anxiety. A nervous laugh gurgled out of her. He didn’t look away.

  Nas tapped the end of her pen on the table. The sound was cannon fire in the silence. They had no power in this room. No leverage. ‘If you know anything about this, this is your chance to act. Don’t condemn more families to suffering.’

  He dropped Freddie’s gaze and she exhaled. Tried to swallow but her mouth was full of dust.

  He looked at Nas and licked his tongue slowly over his teeth. Freddie longed to protect her from this. ‘Did you bring me any photos?’ he asked.

  Nas recoiled. Freddie felt the room tilt. Disbelief and disgust burned like fireworks over Nas’s face. ‘I’m not showing you photos of the victims.’

  A trickle of sweat ran between Freddie’s shoulders. The thought of bringing pictures of Chloe or Lottie into this place, this room, was repulsive.

  ‘This interview is finished.’ Nas pushed herself up and away from the desk. The officers looked startled. This wasn’t the plan. They were supposed to remain seated until he was removed.

  He leant back in his chair; the two officers flexed, ready.

  Nas thrust her finger forwards. ‘If I find out that you’re responsible for the disappearance of these young girls, I will see that you’re tried for it. You will never, ever get out of here.’ The tops of her ears were red. Time seemed to slow. The officers exchanged glances. Freddie’s stomach flipped. We have to get out of here.

  He brought a hand up and the officers leapt forwards. Nas stumbled back, her legs colliding with the immovable chair. He turned his palm into a stop sign and they all froze. Obeying his command. He gave a small, amused smile, and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘I wanted photos of you, Nasreen.’

  Nas’s mouth fell open. The heat of the room was extinguished as ice exploded in sharp crystals through Freddie.

  ‘This has been fun.’ He stood. The officers immediately stepped alongside him. The Hashtag Murderer left the room. Clunk. Clink.

  Chapter 43

  Thursday 17 March

  07:30

  T – 2 hrs

  What did he mean? Freddie asked the same question over and over in her head. Had he done all this to get photos of Nas? Had he put out a request on Are You Awake for pictures of her friend? Escalated it from there? Or was it just him toying with them? Making them squirm? Nas had only said one thing since they’d left: we shouldn’t have come.

  She’d checked her phone on the way back, watching as the morning news beamed through the country, the world. A fresh wave of despair came from those who’d just seen the photos of Lottie. A missing eighteen year old. Had she seen the sun rise where she was being held? Or did she have her eyes screwed shut, longing for safety?

  They drove into the underground car park, avoiding the journalists out front. Green’s phone rang as they stopped. ‘DC Green speaking.’

  Nas got out and Freddie followed, listening to her friend’s heels echo on the concrete. What did he mean? Now what did they do? Nas pressed the call button on the lift repeatedly.

  Green was still on her mobile, walking quickly to catch up. Nodding as she spoke. ‘I see. Yes. Thank you.’ She hung up, adding quietly, ‘dammit.’

  Freddie swallowed. More bad news.

  ‘I got hold of someone at Romeland, Sarge. The current caretaker had the number for the administrator and I’ve just spoken to her.’

  Freddie wondered if it was the same belligerent receptionist she’d met just yesterday. ‘But that’s good isn’t it?’ Freddie could hear the desperation in her voice. They needed a break. It wasn’t the Hashtag Murderer. They’d wasted their time. Given him a cheap thrill. Now they had to find a chink in Alex Black’s armour. There were only two hours to go. ‘Did she tell you how to get hold of Alex Black?’

  Green’s face clouded. They got in the lift. ‘She’s only been at the school a couple of years. And guess what? All of Romeland High’s records are computerised, and about two months ago they had some kind of computer virus. They’ve lost everything – the whole lot.’

  Freddie’s breath was coming fast. ‘It’s him: it has to be. He did that. He must have hacked their system. Sent in a Trojan or something.’ The lift doors pinged open and Nas was out and running.

  ‘Chloe’s thread appeared on Are You Awake two months ago. He must have destroyed the records to hide the link back to him.’

  Saunders looked up as they came in. He was on the phone. Chips was down to his shirt sleeves, his tie abandoned over his chair.

  ‘We think Alex Black may have taken out Romeland’s online records,’ Nas said.

  Was this part of the game? This has been fun. Is this what the Hashtag Murderer had meant? It had been easy to track Lottie: to hunt her. I wanted photos of you. Were they the next target? His prey.

  ‘They suffered a cyber attack two months ago,’ Green added.

  Chips was up. ‘I don’t trust coincidences. There must be another way to confirm if he was there.’

  ‘What about the teachers? They must know?’ Freddie looked at Saunders, who was still talking on the phone. He looked disappointed. Another dead end.

  ‘Apparently a few years ago the headmaste
r was accused of having an affair: emails between him and one of the teachers were leaked to the governors,’ Green said. ‘The lady said it was quite the local scandal. He denied the allegations. A number of teachers resigned in support of him. And when the new head came in she replaced pretty much everyone.’

  ‘Jesus. Black again?’ How long had he been planning this for? He’d systematically removed all trace of himself.

  ‘I bet he’s responsible for at least some of that, but I doubt we’ll ever prove it.’ Nas rubbed at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, then pulled a tissue from the box on the desk, swiping under her eyes. ‘He knew we’d come. He’s invisible.’

  ‘So there’s no one at the school who was there when Daisy Jones was there?’ asked Freddie. Frustration mingled fast with panic. How long would it take to track down the teachers who had been there and speak to them? Did they have that long?

  ‘There’s a Mrs Agnes Wilshire who apparently runs the alumni on a voluntary basis,’ said Green. ‘She’s retired but she did work in the school at the time Daisy Jones was there.’

  Hope inflated like a balloon. ‘Then let’s speak to her!’

  ‘I’m waiting for the administrator to call me back with her number. She needs to get into the school to get it.’ She looked at her watch. ‘She should be there within forty-five minutes.’

  Freddie’s heart was hammering. ‘Forty-five minutes? We can’t wait that long!’

  ‘Get onto the local force,’ Chips said. ‘Get them to go to Agnes Wilshire’s registered address. See if we can get hold of her sooner.’

  Nas picked up the phone. Freddie was pacing. Thinking. Staring at her phone. Agnes Wilshire wasn’t on Facebook. She Googled her. She couldn’t find details of Agnes online. Not a silver surfer. Was it a coincidence that she was the last thread that linked to Romeland School’s past: a woman with no digital footprint? A local newspaper piece covered the ‘much-loved’ teacher’s retirement five years ago. If she had been sixty-five then, she’d be seventy now. They needed more. She started going through the printouts from Are You Awake again from the beginning.

  ‘Cudmore, West Herts force on line one,’ Saunders shouted.

  Nas picked up the phone. They only had one hour and fifty-five minutes left. Come on, come on. She crossed her fingers.

  Nas’s face fell and she hung up. ‘Agnes Wilshire isn’t answering. The neighbours say she often goes out to walk the dog first thing in the mornings. There’s been a major RTA on the motorway, so the constable can’t stay. They’ll try and pop back in thirty minutes or so.’

  No. Freddie’s stomach was fizzing. The phone rang and Nas grabbed it.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Cudmore … Great! You can speak to me. Thanks for getting back to us.’ She grabbed her pen, mouthing admin at Green.

  There was a knock and a male staff member popped his head round the door. ‘Call for the DI.’ Chips looked up. ‘DI Saunders, sir.’ Saunders replaced the receiver and swung his chair round to face them. ‘Line two, sir. They want to speak to the person in charge of the investigation. They said they’d hold.’ Saunders nodded and picked the receiver up. Could it be a Crimestoppers lead? A member of the public who’d seen something and realised the importance? Freddie’s heart was racing.

  Nas hung up the phone and started pulling on her jacket. ‘Agnes Wilshire isn’t answering her phone and she doesn’t have a mobile. Apparently she doesn’t like the things,’ she said.

  ‘Very sensible.’ If anything could put you off technology, then it was this case.

  ‘We need to get over there. She’s due in today; every Thursday she does their alumni newsletter. She told her colleagues she’d be in late as she has a dentist appointment. They’ve promised they’ll get her to call us as soon as she gets in.’

  In the corner DI Saunders had stood up, still on the phone, gripping it tightly. She caught the words. ‘I’m sorry. Very sorry.’ He wasn’t the type for contrition. The hairs on her arms stood to attention. Chips, Green and Nas turned to look. There was something in his tone, a warning, his legs jiggled. She could see his face colouring, but he was still apologising. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong. Freddie tried to steady her breathing. It couldn’t be Lottie? Not yet: they still had time. Unless Black had changed the rules? Had visiting the Hashtag Murderer set something in motion?

  ‘I can promise you measures will be taken. Thank you,’ DI Saunders was saying. He held the receiver slightly away from his ear as if the other person was shouting. And then nodded, replacing it on the cradle.

  His face was contorted with rage as he turned to glare at Nas. ‘Cudmore, do you want to explain to me why the fuck Chloe Strofton’s parents have just given me an ear bashing? They want to know why an officer who bullied their daughter is now asking questions about their other daughter’s death?’

  Nasreen inhaled so fast she squeaked.

  ‘What?’ Chips looked aghast.

  ‘They want to know why I’ve let her,’ he pointed directly at Freddie, his face puce, ‘also ask questions. When she also bullied their kid.’

  ‘Sir, I can explain,’ Nas said. Freddie felt panic rise in her. Gemma. Gemma’s mum and dad. Never contact me again. She should have told Nas. Should have said something.

  ‘You know the family. You and her were accused of bullying one of the Stroftons’ other kids and you thought you wouldn’t fucking mention it!’ Saunders’s face was beetroot. He marched at her.

  ‘It was eight years ago …’ Nas said.

  Saunders was leaning over her, his hands braced on the arms of her chair. Chips was up now. ‘I don’t give a fuck!’ he snarled in her face. ‘They could be called as witnesses for this case. If the defence lawyer sniffs out any relationship between an officer and a witness they’ll say you’re compromised: the case could collapse.’

  Oh god. She hadn’t known that: why hadn’t Nas said?

  ‘I don’t have a relationship with them. And I haven’t spoken to Chloe’s parents,’ Nas managed.

  ‘No, but you and your little buddy here have been all over the kid’s school! You’ve spoken to her friends! Her teachers! Do you know how this looks?’

  Chips pulled at Saunders. ‘That’s enough.’

  Freddie saw Nas’s eyes glisten. ‘I thought I could help.’

  ‘You thought you could help?’ Saunders flicked a hand towards her face, almost as though he might hit her. Freddie jumped up and Chips put a hand out. ‘Like you thought it would help to screw the boss!’ Saunders screamed.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Freddie said.

  ‘Come on now, Pete,’ said Chips, pulling Saunders back a pace.

  ‘No.’ He shook him off. ‘She’s lied from start to finish!’ He jabbed his finger towards Nas. Freddie could hear her own breath; she was panting.

  Nas was flushed, and blinking furiously. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘I did what I thought was best for the investigation. I thought my inside knowledge of the family might help.’

  ‘Your behaviour has brought the unit into disrepute, Cudmore.’ Saunders turned his back on her.

  ‘No.’ Nas sounded like she couldn’t believe it.

  ‘I want you out of this office.’ Saunders didn’t look at her.

  Panic surged through Freddie. This was wrong. He was making a mistake. Nas had only been trying to help – surely he could see that?

  Nas looked desperate. ‘Sir, I …’

  ‘Enough. You’re suspended, as of now. You’re gone.’

  Nas looked at Chips for help. He looked at the floor. Freddie’s heart ached for her.

  ‘But what about Black? What about Lottie? I can help.’ Nas’s voice was panicked. ‘There are links between me and the victims. We’re so close to finding him.’

  ‘I’m not having you compromising anything else. Get your stuff and go home. You too,’ he said, jabbing a finger at Freddie. Freddie felt heat pass through her. ‘Neither of you should have been near this case in the first place.’

  Nas stood st
aring at Saunders, pleading with him silently. He turned away. Nas took her handbag and coat and stalked out, wiping a tear from her eye. What had she done?

  Chapter 44

  Thursday 17 March

  07:35

  T – 1 hr 55 mins

  Freddie grabbed her bag from behind the desk, not caring that she sent papers and a mug spinning to the floor as she went. Saunders had his arms crossed, watching her as if she might be about to nick a laptop or something. She stopped in front of Chips. He looked pale, his face sagged, like he was in shock. ‘Thanks for nothing,’ she said.

  She eyeballed Saunders as she walked out. ‘Cock,’ she said, loud enough so they both heard it, and slammed the door behind her. The walls vibrated, and she ploughed straight into the back of Nas. The impact seemed to spur Nas into motion and she started away, picking up speed down the corridor, her coat flung over her arm. ‘Nas, wait. We need to go back in there. They can’t do this.’ Could they speak to Burgone? He probably wouldn’t be thrilled at their little lapse in honesty either. ‘We can’t walk away now!’ But Nas didn’t stop, she burst through a door next to the lift. The stairs. Shit. Freddie started to jog to catch up.

  She could hear Nas’s heels clicking down the concrete stairs at speed. What was this? The fire exit? ‘What’s wrong with the lift?’ Nas didn’t reply. She could see her pulling on her coat, the tails fanning behind her. ‘You need to make them understand that you’re the link. That you’re the one who connects Chloe and Lottie,’ she shouted. Freddie thought of the anger in Saunders’s eyes. From the first moment she’d seen him she’d known he didn’t like Nas. He wanted her out of the way. Should Nas have just told her colleagues that she knew Chloe’s family from the beginning? Would it have made any difference? It was difficult to untangle the pointless police protocol from what was truly dicey. Nas wouldn’t do anything that might risk Lottie’s life. Would she?

  Freddie had never had to question any of this, any of Nas’s behaviour, before. It had been Nas who’d confronted Chips when he got in the van with Liam. Nas who had immediately told the rest of the team what they’d found out from interviewing William. Nas was the one who always did things by the book. The sound of her heels was getting further away. She had to decide: whose side was she on? She thought of Lottie’s petrified eyes, Saunders’s angry stance, Chips’s gormless shock … Fuck it. She started running down the stairs. Light shone through the distorted windows, strobing as she tried to catch up. ‘Can you just stop a second?’