Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  Alex was picking up and flicking the syringes. ‘I’ll kill you and Lottie, and I’ll die too. And it’ll be Daisy’s fault. She can’t hide from this in America.’ She was going to kill herself: a final swan song. Nasreen thought of the American school gunmen going down in a blaze of bullets.

  Alex turned her attention to Lottie. ‘I watched Chloe die. It doesn’t hurt.’ She put the needles down and straightened the camera next to them. Picked up the knife. Its blade glinted against the dark walls. ‘But this will.’

  Lottie let out a muffled ‘No!’

  Nasreen pulled her wrists and feet against the tape. ‘Don’t do this, Alex!’

  Alex was walking towards Lottie. ‘I’ll show you what it feels like when you can’t look at yourself in the mirror. What it’s like when the world thinks you’re ugly.’ She grabbed Lottie and held the knife against her cheek. Lottie’s yells grew shrill under the tape.

  ‘Stop!’ Nasreen commanded. But Alex ignored her. She tried again, frantic. ‘This won’t make up for what happened: it won’t make you feel better.’ She could feel the pulse in her wrist under the tape. Lottie was twisting in her seat, her oblique muscles tensing and jerking, trying to get away.

  ‘You’re wrong: this will make it better.’ Alex slowly ran the knife up the side of Lottie’s face. Angry red blood sprang up around the blade. Lottie screamed. ‘Oops.’ She gripped the girl’s head tighter, pressed the knife into the other side of her face.

  Lottie’s blue eyes locked onto Nasreen’s, pleading. Help me.

  Nasreen threw her hips from side to side, rocking the chair. One leg clunked forwards, then the other. She clawed at the ends of the tape, her raw, sweat-soaked fingertips sliding off. And then she shouted; screamed as loud as she could. ‘Help! We’re in here!’

  Alex let go of Lottie and rushed at Nasreen. ‘I should have gagged you too.’ She grabbed Nasreen’s hair, yanking her head back. The knife gleamed.

  Nasreen felt like her skull might pop. Blood pooled somewhere behind her eyes. Her neck went slack, her head lolled, her eyelids fluttered. ‘The insulin,’ she murmured.

  Alex cupped Nasreen’s chin. She felt her face close to hers. ‘Shouldn’t have spat the sugar out, should you?’

  The blade was against her cheek. Nasreen reeled her head back, and with all her force she headbutted Alex.

  Alex’s face exploded with blood. ‘My nose!’ she screamed. ‘That cost a fortune, you fucking bitch!’ She swung the back of her hand hard against the side of Nasreen’s head, knocking the chair off balance. Nasreen slammed into the floor with a jolt. Pain shot up her right shoulder. Her ears were ringing. She yanked at her wrist, and the frayed tape, pressed against the floor, gave. Before she could react, Alex’s foot swung into her stomach, flicking the chair backwards. Pain tore through her gut. She was on her back. Two ankles and a wrist still attached to the chair. ‘You spoilt fucking bitch!’ Alex screamed. Nasreen saw the knife swing down towards her. Her arm shot up. Cold seared through her forearm. A wave of nausea crashed over her. Blood dropped onto her. She flung her closed fist back against Alex, connecting with the broken bone of her nose. Alex howled, and rolled backwards.

  Her heart pounding, her lungs screaming, Nasreen yanked at the tape on her other wrist and freed her ankles. She lurched. The room was shaking. Her shirt was sodden with blood from her arm. She ran to Lottie. She had to get her out. Lottie was hyperventilating; she couldn’t get enough air. Nasreen ripped the tape from the girl’s mouth. Her screams filled the room. She tore one of Lottie’s wrists free.

  Alex kicked her back. Air whooshed out of her. Nasreen reached for the tape round Lottie’s ankles as her knees slammed into the floor. She fell forwards; her whole body felt like it’d been compressed. Squeezed. She was gasping. Get up. Pain spread from her back – her kidneys? Get up. You’ve got to get up. She could feel the cut on her arm now: hot, burning, deep. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly as Alex grabbed her ankle. She was being dragged backwards. She couldn’t catch hold of the floor. Must turn over. The blood-spattered swoosh of Alex’s pink trainer ground down into her arm. There was a scream: her scream.

  Nasreen reached up and back, as Lottie pulled herself free from the chair, sobbing, and staggered towards them, her hands outstretched to help. She dredged every bit of authority she had left. ‘Run, Lottie! Run!’ The words shook at the edges. The girl’s eyes were wide, blood was running over her face, she took two steps back. ‘Go!’ Nasreen managed. Lottie turned and stumbled towards the door, wrenching it wide, sunlight pouring in. She was free. Safe.

  Nasreen turned to see the sole of Alex’s trainer stamping down towards her face. Hands up. Get up. Groaning, she tried to lift herself from the ground. Alex kicked her arm away from her. A fresh wave of agony. She landed on her back, a broken bottle digging into her. She grabbed at the slippery neon-pink leggings. Get up. Alex’s face was close, screaming. Two of Alex. There was a searing pain in her shoulder. She tried to swing her arm up, out. Alex fell onto her, blood smeared across her face, her blonde hair wild. Get up. Alex’s knees pinned her to the floor. Pushing into her cut arm: Nasreen’s vision swam. Get up! Black’s hands were round her neck, tightening on her windpipe. Get … The room wavered. Blood and panic bubbled up in her throat. Dark spots formed at the side of Nasreen’s vision. Get air. She clawed at Alex’s fingers. Her feet kicked helplessly across the floor. Must breathe. Can’t. Can’t …

  As her arms fell to her sides, her legs stilled and the darkness came, Nasreen thought of her parents: they’d be sitting on the old, squishy, brown leather sofa, watching telly, when they got the knock at the door.

  Chapter 49

  Thursday 17 March

  09:30

  Time’s Up

  Far away she heard a shout. Her eyelids fluttered. A woman? Lottie? No. A blur of black jeans. Freddie! There was a crack. Air rushed down Nasreen’s throat; she grabbed at her own neck, trying to force more into it, protecting it, her lungs greedy, gasping, coughing. Colour poured into the room. Alex was lying across her, legs sprawled. Freddie, a log in her hand, had hit her. ‘Get off her!’ Freddie was screaming, pulling at Alex.

  Nasreen blinked. She watched as Alex pushed against the floor with her hand, springing up, knife raised. Nasreen tried to cry out but her throat was raw. Freddie swung the log at Alex, cracking her wild, blonde head. Alex dropped the knife, staggered. It was all Nasreen needed: she was up on her feet and launching herself at Alex. They crashed onto the floor. She grabbed for Alex’s hands and wrenched them back. Freddie kicked the knife away. Alex bucked, but this time Nas was ready, forcing her knee down into her spine, pinning her wrists back. ‘Ah …’ She coughed. Her voice squeaky. Gasped. Croaked. ‘Alex Black, I’m arresting you for the kidnap and attempted murder of Charlotte Burgone. For the harassment and manslaughter of Chloe Strofton. For the false imprisonment and attempted murder of a police officer …’ She broke off to cough again, Alex squirming under her weight. There were shouts outside. Back-up.

  ‘In here!’ Freddie shouted. ‘We’re in here!’

  Nasreen spat out the blood that was gathering in her mouth and tried to blow her plastered hair away from her face. ‘Thanks,’ she said, nodding at the log Freddie was still holding.

  ‘Some people just don’t get the sisterhood, do they?’ Freddie grinned.

  ‘Cudmore!’ Saunders kicked past the door. His face panicked. Mud up his suit legs. He took in Freddie, Nasreen and Alex, squirming under her. Then he was on Alex with his handcuffs. Chips appeared seconds later, followed by a surge of uniforms. Someone helped Nasreen up.

  ‘It’s her. Alex Black is a her. She,’ Nasreen coughed.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Chips.

  Saunders hauled Alex Black to her feet.

  ‘You okay, lass?’ Chips caught hold of her shoulder. She was gripping her arm: blood oozing between her fingers. ‘Looks like stitches to me.’

  She wiped the gunk that was gathering under her nose. ‘Where’s Lottie?’
>
  ‘The wee thing’s safe. The guv’s here. We found her outside. She told us you freed her. She told us where to find you,’ Chips said.

  ‘Thank god.’ Relief flooded through her. She touched her hand to her throat.

  ‘Forget god: thank fuck you got here in time.’ Chips was shaking his head, a look of shock working across his forehead. ‘You took her down single-handedly.’

  Nasreen looked up as Freddie shrugged off the blanket a paramedic was trying to wrap her in. ‘Not single-handedly,’ she said. ‘I had a little help.’

  Chips raised his eyebrows as he took in the log Freddie was still trailing from one hand. ‘The paperwork for this one’s going to be tricky.’

  Chapter 50

  ‘Someone’s taken my swabs. I’ll be right back,’ the short nurse tutted, flicking the cubicle curtain with her wrist so she could duck through without opening it. Nasreen leant back on the treatment bed, the disposable paper hygiene roll rustling under her, and took in the yellowing ceiling tiles of the hospital. It was nice to have a minute alone. The paramedics had caught her in a silver shock blanket and bundled her into an ambulance as she was trying to get to Lottie. She’d had no chance to speak to Saunders, to apologise for going against him. No chance to even try and explain why she hadn’t told them about the Stroftons. She closed her eyes. I did this for you, Chloe. I got Alex: I stopped her. You can have peace now.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d write to Gemma and her parents, tell them the killer had targeted Chloe because of her. How she knew the only way to save Lottie, to stop that happening to another innocent family, was to act in secret. How she’d tried to protect them, and bring Chloe’s killer to justice. Ask for them to confirm that she’d had no contact with them in over eight years. Declare her a stranger. Ask for their forgiveness all over again. Alex Black would stand trial for what she did. She would be made to answer for her actions. And Nasreen would be called to the witness stand. She too would have to answer for her actions. Would she still have a job then?

  She heard the curtain rings shake as the nurse came back in. ‘Sorry, I was just taking a moment,’ Nasreen said.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ It wasn’t the nurse, it was the DCI. It was Burgone! Her eyes sprang open and she sat up, forgetting that they’d cut her shirt away from her injuries. She scrabbled to grab the edge of the ripped cotton, to cover her lace bra, the round of her breasts. Shit.

  ‘Sorry.’ Burgone, whose hair had been combed into place, coughed and turned to look at the wall. She could see he was wearing a clean shirt: there was going to be a press statement, possibly already had been one. He looked pulled together, professional. The sheen of his status restored. Jack the Lad was back.

  Her cheeks flamed. ‘Sorry, sir, I didn’t realise it was you.’ She wanted the bed to snap shut with her in it. He looked serious, his expression that of her boss. Her boss that she’d slept with. Her boss that she’d lied to. She didn’t know if she could do this: have this conversation now. She was swinging between exhaustion and the adrenaline comedown. She ached all over. Her shirt was torn and she was covered in blood. Not just hers, but his sister’s too. They both spoke at once:

  ‘How’s Lottie?’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  She laughed at the absurdity of it all. And he did too, the familiar sparkle returning to his blue eyes. She bit her lip and looked at the floor. ‘Is she hurt?’

  ‘Superficial damage,’ Burgone said. ‘Cuts and bruises, dehydration. They’re keeping her in for observation, but she should be released tomorrow.’ A shadow of what had happened darkened his face.

  Her mind galloped with everything. ‘Sir, do you know if there have been any arrests in relation to the body of the runner found in Greenwich Park?’

  He looked momentarily wrongfooted. Then nodded. ‘PC Goldstein filled me in: shortly after the body was discovered, a man, believed to be the victim’s partner, walked into a local pub, covered in blood.’

  ‘Oh god.’ It was a domestic abuse case. She’d been right.

  ‘Apparently he ordered a double whisky and then asked the barman to call the police. The story’s spread across the force fast.’

  ‘That makes the MIT’s job straightforward.’

  ‘If only every job were that easy.’

  The poor woman’s family and friends. Nasreen wondered if they knew about the abuse. Lottie had been lucky, by comparison. ‘Have you spoken to your parents? Do they know Lottie’s okay?’

  She could feel him looking at her. ‘They’re on their way from France – Chips volunteered Saunders to pick them up from Heathrow.’

  That explained why she hadn’t seen him yet, why she’d been spared that confrontation. But not this one. Did Burgone know this was her fault? Had he spoken to Saunders before that? What had Chips said? Had Lottie told him what Alex had said? That all this was punishment for Nasreen’s former actions? God, what did Burgone think of her? She felt more scared than she ever had in the woods. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’ Her voice cracked. ‘She took her because of me. She killed Chloe because of me.’ A tear dripped onto the mud-smudged black of her trousers and she placed her hand over her mouth, as if she could stem the despair.

  He stepped towards her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You saved Lottie. If you hadn’t have got there, if you hadn’t had risked your own life …’ His voice was shaking too. ‘I can’t ever thank you for what you did.’

  She buried her head against his chest, letting herself inhale his amber fragrance. His touch permeated her like air, blowing away her dandelion seed layers. Every part of her was aflame with desire for him. She wanted to kiss his warm mouth, pull him onto her. Gently she pushed herself away, her body screaming, until she was sitting, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed, facing him. This was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

  ‘I lied to you and the team. I didn’t tell you that I knew the Stroftons personally. That I was involved in an incident that led to Gemma Strofton, Chloe’s older sister, trying to take her own life. Freddie too.’

  The shock on his face told her Lottie hadn’t said anything. That she’d tried to protect Nasreen. Saunders, presumably, hadn’t had a chance to fill him in yet. She wanted to reach for his hand, but she couldn’t. Not now. Not after this. She forced herself to continue. ‘DI Saunders and DI McCain know. They received a complaint from Chloe’s parents. DI Saunders has suspended me, pending investigation.’

  ‘What?’ He pulled away. ‘Chips dragged Saunders away. I thought … I thought he was just trying to give me some time. I didn’t think this … No.’ Jack’s face broke in disbelief. ‘You tried to kill Chloe’s sister?’

  ‘No, we teased her – bullied her. We were fourteen.’ She saw the age register on his beautiful face as he started to draw the lines between what had happened then, and what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. ‘We drove her to it. It was inexcusable. I’m ashamed of my behaviour.’

  ‘You were a child,’ Jack said.

  ‘Then, yes. But not now.’ She forced herself to look him in the eye. ‘I knew that if I flagged my personal link to the case then I would be removed. And I couldn’t do that. I had to be there for Lottie.’ I had to be there for you.

  His face shifted. She felt him withdraw. ‘You are the connection between Chloe and Lottie – that’s what you meant when you said this was your fault?’ His face twisted in disgust. ‘If you’d said something earlier, we could have worked it out: we could have found her sooner!’

  The thought filled her with horror. No! ‘I never imagined that … I didn’t know Black. I couldn’t be sure.’ It was too awful. She shot her hand out towards him, and he took a step back. ‘I would never have done anything to risk Lottie’s safety. You have to believe me.’

  Burgone ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. Her heart pulsed in her chest. Pain stabbed into her side. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I’m sorry
,’ she said.

  ‘I need to think. This is a lot to take in.’ He blew air out his mouth, wiping his hand down over his face. ‘Has Saunders started formal suspension procedures?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He paced back and forth, his face tense with concentration. She could hear his laboured breathing. Was he fighting to control his anger? Deciding what he was going to say to the Independent Police Complaints Commission? ‘When did this happen – him dismissing you?’

  ‘Seven oh three this morning.’ It was branded onto her mind.

  ‘Only two hours before you found Lottie?’ he said. She nodded dumbly. He was building the timeline in his mind, slotting this new information into place. ‘I know they were flat out at that point: everything was focused on finding her. I was in the office. I was there. He can’t have had a chance to speak to them yet.’

  She felt sick. Did he hate her so much he wanted to oversee her discipline personally? Make her pay.

  ‘I’ll stop him,’ Burgone said.

  ‘What? Why?’ He wasn’t making sense. ‘I breached protocol. I brought the force into disrepute. I deserve this.’

  ‘Cudmore,’ he said, his voice stern, ‘you kept information from the team. You went against a direct order. You pursued a suspect when you’d been removed from active duty. You entered a situation you knew to be dangerous, without back-up. In short you did everything you shouldn’t have done.’

  She hung her head in shame, misery mixing with the blood on her clothes.

  ‘But …’ She looked up, her mouth open, aware she must look gormless. ‘If you hadn’t had done that, then Lottie wouldn’t be here. Then I would be telling my parents that their daughter was …’ He looked away for a moment, as if he could see it all, just over her shoulder. When he looked back his jaw was set, his voice steady. ‘You may have breached procedure, but you also worked out where the victim was being held. You got to her and you saved her life. You nearly got yourself killed, and it sounds like there’s going to be one hell of a mess to sort out, but when it came down to it, you never stopped being a police officer, Cudmore. You did what you had to under extremely difficult circumstances. You might not have made the ideal call at each stage of the investigation, but I trust that you did what you thought was right. I will speak to Saunders, and the superintendent if necessary.’