Angela Clarke - Watch Me

‘I didn’t realise anyone was in here.’ Lorna sounded petrified.

She smiled hello, feeling guilty for her ungenerous thoughts. The girl was hovering, fiddling with an ornate ring, as if she were plucking up the courage to say something.

‘You okay?’ Nasreen asked.

A pale pink blush rose on her cheeks. ‘I just wondered if there was any news on DCI Burgone’s sister?’ Bad news travelled fast. ‘He’s such a lovely man.’

Nasreen felt a stab of jealousy, though she knew she was being ridiculous. Burgone had been nothing but his usual charming self to the receptionist. And, to give them their due, neither Saunders nor Chips had said anything inappropriate about her, or to her, as far as she knew either. They may have their reservations about Nasreen’s suitability for the team, but they weren’t based on her gender. Which was some comfort, she supposed. The girl was still twisting her ring. She didn’t want to worry her. ‘We’re pursuing a number of enquiries, Lorna.’

‘If anyone can find her you can, Sergeant.’ Lorna bit her lip.

Nasreen was taken aback; she’d hardly spoken to the girl before. It must be the Burgone effect: Jack the Lad strikes again. She was simply caught in his reflected glory. ‘We’re a good team.’ She thought of Chips and Saunders’s varying degrees of hostility towards her. Well, they could be. Had to be.

Back in the office, Burgone was at a desk in the corner, typing as if he could force answers from the rattling keyboard. She looked away before anyone caught her staring at him. Saunders was on the phone. DC Green had settled at a desk to the right and was shifting through files; she gave Nasreen a weak smile. Nasreen paused by Chips, who was pinning a smiling photo of Lottie to the incident board.

‘Dani, the other flatmate, confirmed Lottie was wearing this gym kit when she went out this morning.’ He tapped the picture.

Lottie was in a matching set of Aztec-patterned pink and purple leggings and bra top, with a coordinating hoodie over the top. On the right breast of the jumper were the initials LB. Nasreen recognised the costly brand as one she lusted after herself, waiting until items went into the sale before she could afford to buy them. ‘Was it a freebie?’

‘Yup. Hence the lass has a photo of it on her site. Handy for our door to door.’

You couldn’t ask for more than a recent photo of a missing person wearing what they’d last been seen in. Lottie documented her whole life online. It wouldn’t take much for someone to work out her routines.

Nasreen kept her voice low; she didn’t want Burgone to hear. ‘Do you think we’re looking at a suicide risk or foul play? The wording of the message – you have twenty-four hours to save the girl’s life – sounds like a threat.’

‘Aye, I wondered that.’ Both of them kept their eyes forward, as if they were in a covert investigation – undercover in their own office. ‘Us all being sent the message, it feels wrong.’

Nasreen girded herself to say the name of the first victim, not to let it carry any other significance. It was a sad coincidence she was Gemma’s younger sister. That’s all. ‘Are we sure the other girl – Chloe Strofton – took her own life?’

The investigating force couldn’t have known a second suicide note would be sent via Snapchat and that a second girl would soon be missing. Nasreen thought about the messages, the public nature of circulating the notes on the app. The infamy that was now spreading online.

‘The coroner declared she did,’ Chips said.

‘I’d like to take a look at the case notes anyway – see if anything jumps out?’ Chips nodded his agreement. Two wasn’t a pattern. They could simply be looking at a copycat suicide, in which case the priority would be to find Lottie before she harmed herself. Would Lottie also copy the method Chloe had used to take her life? She wasn’t looking forward to reading how Chloe had died, but she had to do it. The press was good about keeping details out of the public domain, especially when minors were involved, but if Chloe’s suicide note had ended up on social media, then what other information might also have been leaked?

Saunders hung up and grabbed a ringing phone before the DCI could, his movements strong and swift. ‘Saunders speaking.’ He pulled his pad close to write notes. News. She froze, as if taking another step might break the fragile safety net that protected you before you knew the truth. ‘Yes. I see,’ Saunders was saying. ‘And can you confirm where that was?’ That? A deliberately innocuous word. Her stomach contracted. Please don’t be a body. Burgone was gripping his desk with both hands. Green kept her eyes down.

‘Yes.’ Saunders’s tapping foot betrayed his anxiety. ‘Let me know when the lab have the results. Rush job. Orders from the top: this one’s priority. Any issues and they answer to me.’ His pen vibrated across the page. ‘Yes. Thanks.’ Laying his pen down, he carefully replaced the receiver on the cradle. He turned to face them slowly, resting the tips of his overlong fingers together. It felt like the room was holding its breath. His eyes met Burgone’s gaze. ‘A top matching the description of the one we believe Lottie was wearing when she left her flat this morning has been found on West Grove Lane.’

‘Does it have her initials on it – LB?’ Hope sounded in Burgone’s voice.

Say no.

‘Yes. It looks like it is her hoodie.’ Saunders flexed his fingers, giving them time to absorb the words. Nasreen caught Green’s eye. Her face had grown paler under her freckles. ‘There are also signs of a struggle where the top was found. The SOCOs are on their way to the scene now. We’ll confirm if it’s Lottie’s and see if we can lift any other DNA from it.’

‘A struggle?’ the DCI repeated.

Chips was leaning against the incident board, his thick arms folded over his chest, a troubled look rumpling his fleshy features.

‘There are scuff marks on the ground,’ Saunders said. ‘And the top has been partially torn.’

The words were out before Nasreen could stop them. ‘So she’s been abducted?’ Saunders shot her a look of disgust, and Nasreen didn’t dare look at Burgone.

‘We don’t have enough to assume that yet.’ Chips’s maturity lent his words a much-needed level of reassurance. ‘But we can’t rule it out either. Let’s find out if there’s any cameras on West Grove Lane. See what the door-to-door teams turn up.’

Saunders nodded; Nasreen did too. Having things to do, a structure, helped.

‘Cudmore, look at the other lass’s file: see if you can find any link between the two girls.’ He was authorising their earlier conversation, making it open. Chips’s tone softened to talk to Burgone. ‘Might Lottie know Chloe Strofton, guv?’

Burgone looked startled, as if he’d forgotten they could see him there. ‘Not that I know of. The girl was schooled locally in Hertfordshire. I can’t see how their paths would have crossed. But they could’ve met online?’

Social media had changed the way people socialised: your pool was no longer restricted to people you met in real life. The job had made Nasreen wary: she’d closed the scant accounts she’d had the day she started at the College of Policing. She couldn’t imagine meeting up with someone she’d met online, but she knew plenty of people did. Especially those her age and younger. Perhaps Lottie and Chloe had met?

‘If Lottie’s internet-famous, then we have other motives to consider,’ Saunders said. ‘Let’s check if there was anyone acting odd online, as well as looking for potential links to the Chloe Strofton case. Someone else may have borrowed her Snapchat idea.’