Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  ‘Are you sure?’ She sounded like an idiot.

  ‘You saved the life of my sister, Nasreen, I’m not having you punished for this.’

  ‘You still want me on the team?’ She couldn’t believe he was saying this.

  He sighed, a heavy sadness tugging at his face. ‘I want you in the team, Nasreen. You’re a brilliant sergeant, and I’ve no doubt you’ll make a fantastic DI one day.’ He smiled at her and she smiled back, gripping the bed tight. ‘But there’s only so much I can do to smooth this over with the superintendent.’ When he lifted his eyes to hers, she knew what was he was going to say. She felt as if she were falling. He was trying to find the strength to speak. ‘I can protect you, but not if …’ He stopped: the words choking his throat.

  He felt the same. ‘But not if we’re together,’ she said quietly. All her hopes blazed brightly in front of her, before they were incinerated. This time he didn’t pull away when she took his hand in hers. She stroked his smooth skin. Brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them one by one.

  ‘I won’t strip you of your place in the force, Nasreen.’ He cupped her cheek and gently pushed her hair away from her face. If she left the Gremlin taskforce mere months into her post, people would assume she’d screwed up. She’d be tainted. It would kill her career before it got started. He knew it, and she knew it. And DCI Jack Burgone was the Gremlin taskforce. Neither could walk away and survive. The road ahead was already looking bumpy; the superintendent wouldn’t bend the rules any further.

  His fingers were warm against her cheek. She tried to smile though tears gathered in her eyes. She should speak up. She should say she didn’t care about her career, that she’d forget it all to be with him. But she didn’t.

  ‘People like you and I …’ he said. ‘This isn’t just another job: it’s our calling. We do it because if we don’t …’

  She nodded, thinking of Chloe, and the dead woman lying in Greenwich Park. Out there were the families, people who’d lost loved ones, people who’d lost their own lives, people who deserved justice. She rested her cheek against Jack’s shoulder. He stroked her hair, his voice barely above a whisper: ‘You’d grow to resent me if I took that from you. And I couldn’t bear that.’

  A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped at it with the back of her hand. ‘I know,’ she said, though it hurt more than the knife. She held him there for a second, knowing now that it would be the last time. Willing the clocks to stop, time to stand still. He hugged her back, both of them desperately trying to hold on. And then she sniffed, straightened away from him. Banished emotion from her voice. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The curtain rings whistled, and the short nurse appeared, her face clouding at the sight of Burgone. ‘You shouldn’t be in here. You need to leave her alone until we’ve finished. Thank you.’ She held the curtain aside for him, her eyebrows a challenge to argue.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘Take the rest of the week off, Detective Sergeant. Get some sleep. I’ll have one of the team call you to see how you’re doing on Monday. Manage your return to the office.’ If he hadn’t held her stare just a second too long, you would never have known anything had happened at all.

  ‘Sir?’

  He paused, his sad eyes looking at her, while the nurse tutted and tapped her watch.

  ‘It was Freddie who worked it out. She realised the wall hanging behind Lottie was a drawing of a bird; she realised Alex Black had been on a school trip to the cabin in Wildhill Wood. She put it all together.’

  Burgone raised his eyebrows slightly and then nodded. ‘I see.’

  ‘I know she’s looking for a job right now, sir.’ She couldn’t believe she was even saying this. Couldn’t believe she sounded so calm. But Freddie had helped her when she needed it, and she’d helped Lottie. Nasreen looked at him: do this one last thing for me. It was too late to help Gemma, but she owed the three young girls they’d once been before everything broke apart: she could help Freddie.

  Burgone nodded, as if he were reassessing the last twenty-four hours afresh. ‘You say she was the one who worked out the location of Black?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nasreen nodded. ‘And she worked through intelligence from the Are You Awake site. She found the link to the website in the first place. And the information that led us to Cynthia Warner. Which led us to Black.’

  ‘Hmm. She also came up with the idea about tracing Lottie’s smartwatch.’ He put both his hands in his pockets. After everything, he was still rational and fair.

  ‘Ahem,’ the nurse coughed loudly. ‘Enough now.’

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ Burgone smiled at her and she saw the nurse visibly soften. He had that effect. ‘I’ll give it some thought, Sergeant. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He ducked through the curtain, turning to catch her eye as the fabric fell, along with her heart.

  ‘You all right, dear? You’ve gone quite pale.’ The nurse bustled towards her, grabbing her wrist to monitor her pulse.

  ‘Yes.’ Nasreen stared at the grubby blue curtain. At where he’d been. If she closed her eyes she could still feel his touch, his heartbeat. His warm scent slowly fading beneath the smell of antiseptic. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. But it was a lie. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be fine again.

  Chapter 51

  ‘I’m okay, I told you.’ Freddie wanted to get out of here. She wanted to find Nas. They’d got separated: Freddie being driven by Green to the hospital, who’d fired a million questions at her. How did they work out where Lottie was? How had they found the portakabin? Why had she turned around before she reached the road? Freddie didn’t need emergency treatment herself, but Chips had appeared and hustled her into a cubicle, then spent ages asking her to go over everything in detail. Again.

  The nurse looking at the cut on Freddie’s knee tutted. ‘Just let me clean this up,’ she said, swiping a wet swab at the stinging cut.

  ‘That hurts more than it did doing it!’ She’d have to write and sign a statement, they said. Irritation raged through her. She was knackered. She just wanted to go home and order noodles from the Vietnamese. She caught herself: the Vietnamese was at her old flat in Dalston. She didn’t live there anymore.

  ‘Okay, all done.’

  ‘Thanks. Do I get a lollipop?’ Freddie hopped off the bed, her leg cool where it was still damp. The nurse ignored her, busying herself by collecting all the bloody gauze into a cardboard kidney tray to take away. ‘Do you know where they took my friend – she came in in an ambulance with a blonde girl?’

  ‘Are you next of kin?’

  They were just as good as sisters. Nas was certainly the closest she’d ever had to a sibling. ‘No,’ she said, pulling her hoodie back on, the cuffs mud-stained from her fall.

  ‘Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything.’

  ‘I’m not press, I promise,’ she said. Well, not anymore. Journalism felt distant, odd: the idea of sitting and typing up stories was like something from another life. She didn’t know what she would do next, but it wouldn’t be that.

  ‘Sorry: that’s what we’ve been told.’ The nurse pulled the curtain back and left. Just outside, leaning against the corridor wall, was Jack Burgone. Freddie grabbed a roll of surgical tape from the table.

  ‘Freddie,’ he nodded.

  ‘Checking I don’t make a break for it?’ He looked tired, but relieved. His face was soft and she realised he must have been taut with worry when she’d seen him before.

  ‘Not at all. Sergeant Cudmore has been asking after you.’

  She had the parts of her phone out of her pocket, holding them together as she wound the tape around. ‘Where is she? They wouldn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Getting stitches. She’s fine, though she’s going to be off work for at least a month,’ he said.

  ‘She won’t like that.’ She held the power button down. The phone blinked into life. A line bisecting the screen. She could live with that.

  He smiled. ‘No, I don’t suppose she will.
’ His suit and shirt were straight. He looked completely normal, apart from a tiny smear of blood on his tie.

  ‘How’s Lottie?’

  His smile faded. ‘She’s okay. Physically, I mean: they’ve checked her over. She’s had a couple of stiches on her cheek. They say they’ll be able to fix the scar with a bit of light cosmetic surgery.’

  ‘Scars add character,’ she said, tapping her head.

  He smiled. ‘Yes, they do.’

  ‘And that’s it, she’s okay other than that?’ Lottie’s screams for help had made her turn back before she reached the road. She’d never forget seeing the girl: her hair matted, tape trailing from her ankle, her face a mess of tears and red as she ran towards her.

  ‘They want to monitor her blood sugar levels overnight. Black injected her with insulin to render her unconscious.’ The muscles in the front of his neck spasmed and pulled tight. Anger.

  Lottie had fallen on her, saying she had to help the policewoman, and Freddie had gone ice cold, fear exploding in goosebumps over her skin. She hugged herself at the memory.

  ‘You okay?’ Burgone placed a hand on her arm.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She’d run then. Faster than she ever thought she could. She had to help Nas. ‘It’s been a crazy day.’

  He smiled then. ‘It has.’

  ‘How’re your folks?’ Freddie thought about the faces of Lottie’s parents on the news. And then thought of Chloe’s parents. Of Gemma.

  ‘They’re on their way. Saunders is picking them up from the airport.’

  ‘That’ll be nice for them!’ She raised her eyebrows.

  Jack smiled. ‘He’s a good man – and a great cop.’

  ‘If you say so. I’m going to see if I can find a coffee in here. I think I saw a Costa on the way in.’

  ‘I can have PC Green drop you home,’ he said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ He reached out to catch hold of her arm. She looked towards the waiting room. She just wanted to sit down. Have a moment to herself. Try and make sense of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  ‘Freddie, I want to thank you for what you did. For helping us find Lottie.’

  ‘No worries,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’s not like I can say no to Nas. She’s very persuasive.’ He smiled. What would happen between them now all this was over? She didn’t want to rub it in about the email. Burgone’s eyes were kind, even if his posh voice was irritating. She hoped the cafe had toasties as well. She was ravenous. Grilled cheese would hit the spot right now.

  ‘Shall I get PC Green to meet you outside?’ Burgone was keeping pace, his brogues clicking along the floor in time with the squelch of her rubber-soled boots.

  She’d like a bath. And then a beer in front of the telly. ‘Nah, it’s all right. I’ll wait for Nas. I want to see her before I go.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, though he showed no signs of leaving her side.

  ‘You want me to get you a bacon bap or something?’ How much money was in her current account? Hopefully enough for a couple of sarnies.

  ‘I’m vegetarian,’ he said, and she stopped in the middle of the hallway. He raised his eyebrows. ‘You okay?’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me! Does Nas know?’

  He looked confused. ‘Does Nasreen know what?’

  ‘Vegetarian! Brilliant!’ Freddie was trying not to laugh. ‘Her parents think she’s veggie, like the rest of the family – has she told you that? But she can’t say no to a Maccy D’s.’ Burgone was obviously an eat-clean freak like his sister. Classic.

  ‘I haven’t been able to eat meat since I worked on a homicide case where the killer set fire to his victims,’ he said.

  Freddie stopped laughing. Thought of the smell. Decided she wasn’t so hungry after all.

  ‘Freddie …’ Burgone’s tone was serious. ‘Have you thought about what you’ll do next? Nasreen told me that you’re currently on a, err, career break.’ He looked embarrassed.

  ‘So?’ The bright lights and noise of the hospital corridor were giving her a headache.

  ‘Well, there’s a role coming up on my team that I thought you might like to consider.’

  Her mouth hung open. ‘I’m not a copper, and I certainly ain’t about to become one.’

  He smiled as if the idea was amusing. ‘No, and I’m not sure you’d be happy doing that. But I watched you during this investigation; I know what you did. You have an interesting insight into things. You were instrumental in bringing Lottie home, and I will always be grateful for that.’

  ‘I’m not really the admin type though, mate.’

  He smiled again. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of an analyst role. I have the budget for a criminal intelligence analyst. You’re good with data, we’ve seen that. You have a good eye for detail, and spotting patterns. I think it might be a good fit.’

  Freddie stared at him. She didn’t even know what a criminal whatsit was. Then she thought of her parents’ house, back down the deserted lane in deepest darkest suburbia. She thought of how few jobs there were out there, how before she’d had to beat off four hundred other applicants just to make sodding coffee in a cafe.

  ‘You could train on the job,’ Burgone said. ‘I’d make sure you got the support you need to get back into the workplace.’ His eyes flicked over her scar.

  ‘I don’t need no sympathy job.’

  ‘I wouldn’t offer you the job if I didn’t think you’d be good at it.’ She caught the whisper of something at the edge of his words, but he shook it off fast. ‘There will need to be a probation period, understandably.’

  Freddie thought of her bedroom at her parents’ house. ‘How much does it pay?’

  Burgone smiled confidently. ‘Take a few days to sort yourself out,’ he said, glancing at her ripped jeans, ‘and then I’ll set up a meeting with HR.’

  ‘Nas is going to be livid!’ She could just imagine the look of disapproval on Nas’s face.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Burgone said. ‘I think she’ll quite like the idea.’ He raised a hand to a uniformed PC who was lurking in the reception, and then held his hand out to shake hers. Freddie rolled her eyes and took it. His grip was firm, his hand warm and smooth. ‘Thank you, Freddie. For everything.’ He turned towards to the cop. ‘PC Thompson, what have you got for me?’

  Freddie caught sight of the Costa and her heart leapt. Skirting round the busy waiting room, she made a break for it. No more claustrophobic Pendrick. It was time to go home. Taking her phone out she pressed on Safari, her fingers agile, intuitive and natural across the screen. She opened SpareRoom.co.uk, selected the ‘Where would you like to live?’ search box, and typed: London.

  Acknowledgements

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without the dedicated support, insight, expertise, and occasional cupcake administration of agent (provocateur) Diana Beaumont. My thanks must also be extended to Aneesa Mirza, who keeps on top of the admin, manages a mountain of incoming post, and always has a smile on her face at United Talent Agency. Thank you also to Juliet Mushens, Sarah Manning and all at UTA.

  Thank you for the time, skills, and patience of editor Kate Stephenson, and all the luscious lovely hardworking, uber-talented, sell-billions-of-books blinding team at Avon. Special thanks to Phoebe – The Fixer – Morgan, Helena – GIF slinging – Sheffield, Hannah – Tescotastic – Welsh, Natasha – The Editor – Harding, Louis – Boom Knockout – Patel, Natasha Williams, Kate McKay, Katie Reeves, Julie Fergusson, Jo Marino, Oli Malcolm and Helen – Killer Smiles – Huthwaite. You guys are seriously aces.

  Thank you to brilliant author and former cop Rebecca Bradley, and the incomparable Amy Jones, and Amy Jones’ (a different one: keep up) partner Garry Jones, for letting me pick their police brains. All errors are totes mine. Obvs.

  Aaron Ross for tech support and the microwave from Argos idea (criminally genius).

  Chris Clarke for knowing way more about Silk Road and the FBI than a brother ought to.

  Dr Hayley King, for h
er suggestions of various ways to effectively kill people. And for having the conversation while avoiding all the bad words, because her two young children were in the room. If they start asking about heroin, tell them you said herons. (Massive heron overdose – still my best typo EVER.)

  Thank you to Dr Erica Williams and Dr Nick Williams, for twenty-four-hour callout (via text) medical knowledge, and, most notably, the intracutaneous insulin. (I REALLY want to work sarin into a future project now.) See how brilliant the NHS is? Not only do they save lives, they also save the arses of crime writers. They’re basically super heroes. #supportjuniordoctors

  The first rule of thanking the secret group of CSers, is not to mention the secret group of CSers. Well cockblankets to that. You are a font of information, support and filth. And I’m very lucky not to be allowed to mention you.

  Thank you Graeme Cameron (see above).

  Thank you to the incredible book bloggers who love books as much as authors do. I don’t know where I’d be without you. A special thank you to Anne Cater and all at Book Connectors, Tracy Fenton and all at TBC, UK Crime Book Club, Crime Book Club, Facebook Book Club The Book Club, and UK Book Club. All excellent people to hang out with.

  Thank you to Wendy, Paul, Julie, Beth, (Miranda), and all at Orchard physiotherapy for keeping me writing. Without you guys I’d be stuck in bed. Or the bath.

  Thank you to the brilliant Kate McNaughton for excellent calm words, and for letting me bounce plot issues off of her first thing in the morning (you should all buy her book). Thank you to smart, funny, joyous Fleur Sinclair, who has done the impossible and managed to make herself even more impressive by running an indie bookshop. Visit her in Sevenoaks Bookshop and tell her how dazzling she is. (They also serve cake.) Thank you to Lucy Peden for cheerleading, philosophies, pun times, puff support and the best laugh in the business (I can’t wait to read your novel). To Jake Kerridge and Gareth Rubin for answering all my random questions, and suggesting excellent books to read. And to Eleanor Dryden for believing in Freddie and Nas to begin with: without you there would be no Watch Me.