Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  Outside, Nas was still on her phone; she’d walked down the road away from her. She was gesturing with one hand as she spoke, but Freddie couldn’t hear the words. Just to the right of the gates, sitting on the steps of the kind of twee wooden door that would’ve made Cath Kidston come, were three girls. Bundled under scarves, she saw the smart casual navy-blue clothes she presumed was sixth-form dress code. They were smoking. She glanced at Nas. She didn’t look like she was about to finish, and Freddie didn’t fancy heading back to the pass agg DC Green. She walked towards the girls; they were chatting, laughing, each a phone in hand, ciggies tucked in their fingers behind. A world away from the horror she was tumbling around in.

  ‘Good thing I ain’t a teacher,’ she said.

  They stopped talking and looked up at her. One, her face prettier than the other two, even though she had the least amount of make-up on, shielded her eyes from the sun with a small white hand. ‘Can we help you?’

  Polite, middle-class kids: this was as confrontational as they got. What would it be like to have naked photos of you shown to others in this world? ‘Can I bum a cigarette?’ She felt ancient standing in front of them. A different tick box: 18–21, 22–25. Jesus, she’d be twenty-five this time next year!

  The girl who’d spoken shrugged and pulled the packet from her jeans. Freddie took one. ‘Cheers.’ She felt the familiar weight on her lips. ‘Got a light?’

  One of the girls held up a yellow plastic one. Freddie shielded the wind. Inhaled. Felt the warm smoke. Leant back. Exhaled. ‘You go to Romeland High?’

  ‘Yeah.’ The girl with the fingerless gloves narrowed her eyes. What’d she done to be made Queen Bee of this little clique?

  ‘Did you know Chloe Strofton?’

  ‘The girl who killed herself?’ The girl with the lighter sounded vaguely disgusted.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So sad.’ Fingerless gloves girl’s eyelids fluttered. ‘A tragic waste.’

  Freddie had the feeling this wasn’t the first time she’d said this. She sounded like a government spokesperson after a national tragedy: sympathetic but removed. It was a reminder that teens could be cold, calculating, capable of more than you might suspect.

  ‘She was in year eleven. I didn’t know her, but I saw her around.’ She touched her clavicle lightly, making it personal. Making it about her. Just the kind of girl who wouldn’t give two hoots about Chloe in real life.

  Freddie reminded herself that just because she and Nas and Gemma, Chloe’s sister, hadn’t been in the cool crowd, it didn’t mean that Chloe hadn’t pulled it off. Pretty. Popular. Good at school. Boyfriend. All the stuff you needed to succeed at being a teen girl. Before it all went wrong. ‘Did you hear anything about some nude photos of Chloe being circulated?’

  To give them credit they looked shocked. ‘No,’ fingerless gloves girl said. ‘Why would someone do that?’

  ‘Rookie error,’ said the other girl, earning herself an evil look from the third and resolutely silent girl. Her heart-shaped face was pink, her lips pursed into a look of – what? Distaste? Panic? Freddie settled on recognition.

  ‘Thanks for the fag.’ Nas was coming up the road, a look of anger on her face. Busted. Shouldn’t be making small talk with the kiddies.

  ‘Are you the police?’ Fingerless gloves girl eyed the rolled waistband of Freddie’s jeans.

  ‘No. But she is.’ Freddie nodded at Nas. The girls stubbed their cigarettes out quickly, kicking them away, even though they were legally old enough to smoke. They ducked past Nasreen in a tight gaggle, heads down, looking at their phones. Back to teen world.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Nas said.

  ‘Just getting a cigarette,’ she said.

  ‘From the children?’

  ‘They were sixth formers.’

  ‘You can’t just go speaking to minors about a case,’ Nas snapped. The tops of her ears were red.

  ‘Wrong. I’m not police: I can do what I like.’

  ‘What did you say to them?’ Nas demanded.

  ‘Nothing. I told you, I just asked for a fag!’ She waved the cigarette about in the air.

  ‘I thought you’d quit?’

  ‘Jesus, what is this? Are you my mother? I fancied a fag. I asked for a fag. End of story.’

  Nas looking unconvinced and started up the slope at a pace. Freddie had to take two steps at a time to keep up. ‘What did your lot say about the photos?’ She would’ve thought she’d be pleased. ‘This is another link, isn’t it? Between the two girls. Something other than us, I mean.’ Nas stopped and it took everything she had not to plough into her suited back, holding the fag out so as not to catch her hair. ‘Christ, watch it!’

  Nas turned to face her. She’d lost the look of anger that had singed her ears moments before. Her eyebrows were knit together. Her eyes showed her tiredness. She looked like she’d had about as much sleep as Freddie had recently. Freddie sucked on the ciggie. ‘Freddie, look …’ She faltered.

  ‘You aren’t seriously pissed off that I’ve had a cheeky fag – I deserve one after the last couple of hours.’

  ‘No, it’s not that, it’s …’ She batted the smoke away. ‘Look can you put that out a minute and just listen.’ The red was appearing on her ears again.

  Freddie dropped the cigarette, overzealously grinding it into the floor. ‘Better?’ Nas was getting annoying now.

  ‘I was just talking to my boss.’ She was waving her hands around, palms open, as if she were offering her something. ‘And, well …’

  ‘Spit it out, Nas.’ Freddie thrust her hands into her pockets. ‘It’s cold out here.’ Nas looked pained. She felt the smile fall from her face and smash on the floor, fear breaking round her feet. ‘Has there been another message? Another photo? Is Lottie okay?’ Oh god.

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ Nas looked desperate, as if she were willing her to do something. ‘It’s … Look, Freddie, I haven’t exactly been straight with you.’

  Freddie sucked her cheeks in. I knew it. A chill feeling trickled down her spine. Would she have left the house if it had been anyone else? Been so willing to leave the last few months behind? ‘What do you mean?’

  Nas had a look of sadness on her face. ‘I haven’t exactly told my boss about you.’

  ‘What?’ She was struggling to fit this together – a minute ago they’d found a link between Chloe and Lottie, another one. Admittedly not a nice one, but it was something. Her fingers closed round her phone. She wanted to check something. But now this, Nas going all weird on her. ‘You were just talking to him, weren’t you – on the phone?’

  ‘That was DI McCain – Chips. He’s my superior, yes, and I told him I was talking to you about the case.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone else.’ Nas put out a hand to stop her from walking past. ‘I didn’t tell DI Saunders or DCI Burgone.’

  ‘Lottie’s brother?’ Freddie frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘He doesn’t know I’m – we’re – here. Well, he does now. We need to bring in the tech lads to look into the poster calling himself Liam on Are You Awake. See if we can track his IP address. I want to know where he got those photos from, and whether he knew Chloe in real life.’

  ‘Do you think he could be linked to Lottie? I saw his name at least once in her thread.’ She pulled the phone from her pocket. ‘Let’s have a look and see if he crops up any more. My money’s still on it being Will though. Do you think he’d be capable of taking Lottie?’

  ‘Freddie, you’re not listening. I’ve really screwed up with this. I took a chance bringing you in.’ Her eyes were wide, desperate.

  ‘Yeah, and we found this website.’ The photos on Are You Awake were a colourful blur as she shook her phone at her.

  ‘Yes. But now I have to take what I have back in to the team. Saunders has just torn me a new one for going AWOL.’ Nas’s face was so stretched into contrition it looked painful.

  ‘I?’ Was she being g
iven the brush off? ‘You can’t turn up at my house, with no warning, and just show me photos of dead and kidnapped girls, Nas. And then ditch me. You can’t get me involved in something like this and then drop me!’

  ‘It’s not up to me.’ Nas looked at the ground, at the smeared ash on the cobbled path. ‘You’ve been really helpful, Freddie. I don’t know if I’d have got this far without you.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ Freddie stabbed her finger towards Nas, whose reflexes apparently weren’t dulled by lack of sleep; her hand shot up and closed over Freddie’s finger before it connected with her breastbone. ‘Ouch! Let go!’

  ‘Sorry.’ Nas dropped her hand.

  ‘Sorry? Is that all you’ve got to say?’ Freddie’s temper bubbled up and over, words spewing from her mouth before she could catch hold of them. ‘You thought I was good enough to help you on this ten minutes ago, when you came to my parents’ house and practically begged me. And now, because some idiot in a uniform has said so, you’ve changed your mind? That’s weak, Nas. Really fucking weak.’ Nas’s jaw was set; she had the feeling she was grinding her teeth. ‘This is not school. This is not some stupid thing we did as kids.’ She shuddered involuntarily at the mention of what they’d done before. ‘This is serious. Lottie is missing, and I can help. Whoever has her sent me her photo, too – did you tell your boss that?’

  ‘No. I …’

  ‘Don’t bow to some stuck-up copper because you’re a good little girl. You’re better than that! I’m better than that!’ The last words rained out in a hail of spittle that settled on the street in tiny bubbles before they burst and vanished. Freddie exhaled. Nas was still looking at her, her eyes fixed somewhere just beyond hers, as if she were trying to see into her mind.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  Nas started off up the hill again. ‘You’re right. You are an asset to this case. We’ve got a new link between the victims, a possible lead. And you were part of that.’

  ‘What?’ Freddie was trying to keep up. How was she managing to walk even faster than before? Freddie was jogging to keep up, puffs of air coming out in short sharp bursts.

  ‘I made a difficult call and it’s paid off. DI Saunders will have to cope.’

  As the cold air hit the back of her throat, mingled with the leftover nicotine, Freddie coughed. ‘Can you just slow down!’

  ‘We need to get back to the station. The sooner the better.’

  She was getting a stitch. ‘What time is it?’

  Nas flicked her hand out and looked at her watch. ‘We have just over eighteen hours.’

  Freddie had broken into a full trot by the time they reached the car. Nas, and her long legs, folded into the front, sweeping the tail of her black coat behind her. Freddie threw herself into the back.

  ‘DI Saunders and Chips have been trying to reach you, Sarge.’ Green was immediately on them. The car smelt of coffee and sweaty pastry.

  ‘We’ve had a photo message that confirms Lottie is being held against her will,’ Nas said.

  ‘Yes, I heard.’ Green screwed up the paper bag in her lap and stuffed it into the door well. ‘I put a cheeky call in to a pal on digital forensics – not good news I’m afraid. They can’t get anything from it.’

  Green jumped as Nas slammed her palm against the glove compartment. ‘We need to get back to the office.’ Freddie swallowed her rising panic.

  ‘Are we dropping our guest off first?’ Green jerked her head towards the back seat, trying to disguise her own apprehension at Nas’s outburst.

  ‘No. We’re all going,’ Nas answered.

  Green looked confused, as if she might have misheard her. Freddie almost felt sorry for her, as Nas snapped, ‘Quickly please,’ and the cop started the engine.

  Freddie’s breath calmed enough for her to force the words out. ‘I think you’re right about the fags.’

  Green flicked on the lights, the houses and shops of St Albans splashed with blue flashes. They were going to London. Now. Fast. She was going back. Freddie tugged at the skin on her lip. Was she ready? They swung round a corner as the sun disappeared behind a cloud, stealing the bright colours, and washing everything in grey, before it flared blue. Blue. Grey. Blue. Grey. The wail of the siren filled the car. Freddie shivered. She didn’t know if it was because of the drop in temperature or the nerves. Closing her eyes she saw Lottie’s bloodied face. Opening them she saw London rushing towards her. What would be waiting for them?

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday 16 March

  15:15

  T – 18 hrs 15 mins

  Nasreen tapped her fingers against her knee. Chips had told her, This stays between you and me. No mention to Saunders, no mention to the guv. And she’d blown it. Saunders’s words rang in her ears. He’d actually snatched the phone from Chips – or at least that’s what it sounded like. ‘Asking a civilian because you couldn’t do the job yourself? Is that what you call proper police work?’ She hadn’t been able to get a word in as he kept going. ‘I don’t care what they taught you at your old station, but that’s not how we do things on Gremlin. Get rid of her and get your sorry arse back here now.’

  She’d managed a ‘But …’ before he’d torn into her again.

  ‘Just be thankful the guv’s under too much pressure for me to haul you in front of him and make you explain yourself. Try something like this again and I’ll personally march you out the fucking building.’

  Then he’d hung up. Actually cut her off. She kept replaying it in her mind, growing more incredulous each time. A part of her wanted to believe Saunders was so threatened by her presence in the team that he was behaving like this to drive her out. Or reinforce the hierarchy. But his vitriol was so great, it felt personal. He really did doubt her ability. He really did think she was threatening the investigation. Even though she’d turned up a result: a link between Chloe and Lottie. Together Freddie and she had uncovered explicit images of first Chloe and then Lottie. Both girls were on Are You Awake. She didn’t believe in coincidence, she believed in reasonable doubt. Likelihoods. The truth you saw under the lies people told. And could she lie now? She was building her argument, aware that as they got closer to London, closer to the office, she would have to explain herself. Explain why she hadn’t only deceived Saunders and Burgone once, but why she was wilfully doing it again. Get rid of her, he’d said. But Freddie was here in the car. Eating a croissant on the back seat. She was taking them the very person she wanted to hide from them.

  ‘Did you think Chloe was taking drugs?’ Freddie’s voice rang out from the back seat, dragging her into the here and now. She was scribbling notes onto a napkin, croissant crumbs everywhere.

  Nasreen hadn’t seen anything that hinted at Chloe being involved in drugs at all. ‘No, did you?’ It was nagging at her.

  ‘Will seems the type to buy tea leaves thinking it’s hash. I had a mate in uni who …’

  ‘Can I remind you, before you go any further with that sentence, that Green and I are members of the law,’ Nasreen interrupted. This was all she needed. Though she caught the faint hint of a smile from Green.

  ‘Well why’d you ask then?’ Freddie looked up from her phone.

  ‘I didn’t. You brought it up.’ Nasreen could sense Green listening keenly. She’d been unfair to snap at her earlier: it wasn’t her fault Saunders was furious at her. If she could just keep a lid on Freddie’s quirkier aspects …

  ‘In the interview – why did you ask the girls about it?’

  ‘Because Chloe Strofton died of a heroin overdose.’ Nasreen heard Freddie’s pen clatter against her phone. She was starting to feel sick from turning round. She looked at the car in front of them, read the number plate in her mind. That was supposed to help.

  ‘Heroin? Where the hell did she get that from?’ Freddie was sounding excited. ‘Seriously. I doubt she’d ever even seen magic mushrooms! The riskiest thing those kids do is sniff Pritt Stick.’

  Green snorted.


  ‘It doesn’t strike me as the kind of school that has a big drug problem,’ said Nasreen. ‘But you can never tell – the dealers get everywhere.’

  ‘I can attest to that,’ said Green, as she signalled to change lanes. ‘I did a stint with the NCA.’

  ‘I thought they were basketball? No – wait – that’s NBA,’ Freddie said.

  ‘I don’t think the National Crime Agency would be thrilled with that mix-up,’ Green said drily. Nasreen smiled despite herself.

  Freddie was tapping her pen against the phone. ‘So someone sourced it for her?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Nasreen.

  ‘Someone could have stuck it in her as well?’

  She winced. ‘The thought had occurred to me, yes.’ Freddie didn’t mean to sound cruel, but she had a habit of externalising what was going on. A hangover from being a journalist: as if she were seeing it all from two steps back, making it fit a story. It was a good trick to have, one many police officers used. Flippant remarks, black humour: a good coping mechanism. But it was one Nasreen didn’t like. It was important not to lose sight of the human cost at the heart of their cases. That was what drove you on, made you look longer, harder, keep trying.

  ‘Our boy Liam’s on here 123 times. Chloe’s thread goes on for pages, I haven’t read it all, though there’s plenty of nasty stuff by the looks of it.’