Watch Me

by Angela Clarke

  Freddie flicked between screens and pressed play on another video, turning up the sound. There was Lorna, all blonde hair and make-up, bubbly and loud, talking to the camera: ‘Shout out to the amaze Klass Jewels for this beaut of a ring. They said one of a kind for a one-of-a-kind vlogger! Sweet. Thanks, guys!’

  Peppy, thought Nasreen. The dryness spread to her mouth.

  ‘I’m not seeing the problem,’ Chips said. Nasreen’s mind was whirring. Lorna had changed her hair colour. Worn minimal make-up, almost retro clothing – completely different from the overt, cutting-edge style she wore in the videos. She spoke quietly, barely making eye contact. She was as quiet as a mouse. And moved around just as freely. Unnoticed.

  ‘She’s loaded,’ Freddie said. ‘Made a fortune from advertising and stuff. Look, here’s a Daily Mail article on her house in Dulwich. It cost £1.2 million.’ Chips took the phone, frowning.

  How many times had Lorna used the ladies’ at the same time as her? What about when they were at the pub? Had Nasreen ever left her handbag by the sink while she was in the cubicle? Had her phone been in her bag? ‘So why the hell is she working in a minimum-wage admin job?’

  Nasreen picked up her receiver then put it down. What was the best way to handle this? ‘You’re thinking she’s our leak?’

  ‘What’s she even still doing here – it’s gone two in the morning,’ Freddie said.

  ‘She was asked to stay late because of the press outside,’ Chips said. ‘An email went round.’ Nas had seen that but skipped straight over it. It wasn’t high on her list of priorities.

  ‘Who sent it?’ Freddie asked.

  ‘Lorna did. It said she’d been asked to stay on …’ His voice shifted. She saw the idea take hold. ‘Oh Christ. Does she have any known links to Alex Black? We need to get onto tech about this straight away. Jesus, she’s been in here: in the office!’

  ‘She’s been everywhere in the building,’ said Nasreen. Had she really pulled this off? Got their mobile numbers, got access to her personal email? It’d be easy for her to pass the whole building’s email addresses on – she had them on her computer, she used them for work. And then it would be easy for someone to send everyone on that list the email exchange between her and Burgone. But she must have had help.

  ‘She did a vlog a few months ago reaching out to the MRAs,’ Freddie said. ‘I think it was the first time I watched her: it went viral. She’d been on their sites, asked them to start a dialogue. To try and help young, disaffected men. She was trying to tackle the high suicide rate. Men between twenty and forty-nine are more likely to die from suicide than anything else in this country.’ She shrugged. ‘The MRAs are dicks, but they’re also a symptom of a wider problem. They’ve just got their wires crossed: they think feminism is the issue, when it’s the solution. The current system is failing young men as well.’

  ‘Alex Black could have met Lorna on the MRA site? Somehow convinced the wee lass to do … this?’ Chips said. He had YouTube open on his browser.

  ‘Or he’s blackmailed her?’ Nasreen suggested. ‘We know he’s capable of lifting information from other people’s servers.’

  Black was capable of many things. The level of detail that had gone into this was extraordinary. If Black had persuaded Lorna to give him information, who knew what he could do. The thought that this could be the Hashtag Murderer reared again.

  ‘Perhaps he’s got photos the lass doesn’t want seen? We need to tread carefully. We don’t want her doing a runner.’

  ‘It’s like Cynthia Warner said: he inspires obsession,’ Freddie said. ‘She might be loony tunes.’

  ‘She could know who Alex Black is. Where he is.’ Nasreen felt violated. Lorna had had access to all the team’s telephone numbers. Burgone’s next-of-kin details would be listed on the HR system. A quick search and you could easily trace Lottie to him. Nasreen thought of her sisters. Her parents. The girl could have their telephone numbers as well. Bile flowered in her stomach.

  ‘Aye.’ Chips puffed air out his cheeks. ‘Green, dig into this Gracie Williams. See if she’s on file. Run Lorna Thompson too. See what we can get before we show our hand. Get onto her phone provider and get copies of her messages. See how she’s communicating with him. See if we can get to him that way.’

  Lorna had always been friendly. All those questions about how the case was going … Had she been gathering intelligence to feed back to Black? ‘She could be updating him. Do you think that’s why she’s stayed late?’

  ‘Aye. So keep communication about the case verbal – make sure you’re not being overheard.’

  Nasreen shivered. She felt like they were being watched. Maybe they were? She took a pad and wrote on it, passing the message to Chips: What if she’s bugged the office?

  He nodded, took the pen and wrote back: Then she’ll know we’re on to her.

  Nasreen took the pen and hurriedly scrawled a reply: I’ll check.

  She took the back stairs – less chance of being seen. She couldn’t risk the lift alerting Lorna to her presence. Reaching the ground floor, one level above the car park, she took her shoes off. Carrying them, she walked softly out of the stairwell. The building was largely quiet, apart from their floor. She could see the press still gathered outside, only a handful now, in North Face jackets and clutching steaming takeaway coffee cups. They were doing the same thing as them: waiting, chipping away at the story. She didn’t want them to catch sight of her, bring her to the attention of Lorna. If she’d been listening in on what they’d said then Chips was right, she’d be long gone.

  She walked along the edge of the wall that led from the lift, which allowed her to peer round the corner. Lorna was at her desk. She wasn’t typing, but Nas could see that her desktop was open on the live news. She was staring at Lottie’s face on the screen. Nasreen could see the ring from here. She’d been fiddling with it in the bathroom this morning. That felt like a lifetime ago. Everything had been shaken and thrown upside down since then. Did Lorna know where Lottie was? She wanted to grab her; make her talk. But Chips was right, blundering in now could cost them. So with great restraint, Nasreen headed back upstairs. This could be the first proper advantage they’d had over Black and she wasn’t going to waste it on an impetuous response. It was nearly three in the morning. Tick tock.

  Chapter 39

  Thursday 17 March

  04:05

  T – 5 hrs 25 mins

  Chips hung up the phone, a look of resignation on his face. ‘Still no answer from the States. I’m beginning to think they’re ignoring me.’

  Saunders stretched his muscular arms up and back, and rotated his head to loosen his neck. ‘How about you, Cudmore?’

  Nasreen sighed. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. I got hold of the caretaker, but it turns out he left Romeland about a year ago. He said he’d see if he could find the number of anyone still there and call me back. But he hasn’t so far.’ She looked at her watch. It was after 4 a.m. They had less than six hours to go. Lottie’s terrified eyes were pleading with her to save her. She felt her heart squeeze. ‘He wasn’t best thrilled to be woken up. I could hear a baby crying in the background.’

  ‘What about you, Green?’ Chips asked.

  ‘Sorry, sir: no good news.’ Exhaustion had rinsed Green’s face of colour; even her freckles seemed subdued. ‘I can only get hold of customer services in India – they need clearance from above and no one will be in until eight thirty.’

  They couldn’t wait that long. Nasreen felt like she was trapped in some horror film of déjà vu, repeatedly calling people and getting no answer. Everyone they needed to speak to was asleep. She took a gulp of the now cold coffee on her desk. Freddie had managed to make espressos from the machine they had, joking that her previous job as a barista was finally coming in handy. They all had them: anything to keep going. Saunders was interspersing cans of Diet Coke with his. Each bitter sip of coffee that hit her stomach seemed to knot it tighter. She felt under her shirt: it was swollen and
hard. She was stiffening from the inside, turning to stone like petrified wood. Fear spreading like wet concrete through her, setting solid until there was nothing alive left. They couldn’t just sit here getting nowhere. ‘I think we should have a chat with Lorna. She won’t know we don’t have her phone records.’

  Saunders was nodding: they didn’t have much option. ‘Worth a try. PC Goldstein is still monitoring her downstairs. She’s done nothing but stare at her computer for the last hour or so.’ Nasreen thought of the photo of Lottie from the news she’d seen on Lorna’s desktop. Was she pleased with herself?

  ‘I’ve Googled Gracie Williams.’ Freddie sounded full of energy. She was using the spare desk behind her and had quickly cultivated a collection of papers, mugs, glasses and used tissues. One of the floaters had found her some Berocca, which she’d been dropping into glasses of water with fizzy regularity. Neon orange rings sat at the bottom of her disposable cups.

  ‘Anything useful?’ She’d need leverage, something to make the girl talk.

  ‘Turns out she did that MRA reach-out because of her younger brother.’ Freddie unplugged her phone from its charger and passed it to her. It showed a photo of a smiling lad, about seventeen, pale, with mousey hair, and a shyness you could feel through the screen. ‘He has a history of mental health issues,’ Freddie added.

  ‘So she’s interested in the mental health of young men – that makes sense,’ said Nasreen. That was a way Alex Black could have got to her – if they were right and she was involved. There was still a part of her that wanted to believe they were wrong. That it was just a case of mistaken identity.

  ‘I don’t see how that’s of use though,’ said Saunders. He was standing up now, bending to touch his toes in a stretch that doubled as a boast at his flexibility. The damp creases in his shirt by his lower back betrayed his show of calm. He was sweating about the time, too.

  ‘She also has a problem with the police.’ Freddie passed forward a printout. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t come across her before.’ Nasreen ignored the reference to Freddie’s former anti-police blogs and hoped no one else caught it either. Nasreen scanned the article before passing it to Saunders’s waiting hand: ‘Campaign Against Police and State Violence. Family and Friends Unite.’

  ‘This wasn’t on her vlog …’ Saunders was squinting at the pages and passing them to Chips, who’d swivelled his chair to face them.

  ‘Nah.’ Freddie’s face was animated. The sleeves of her hoodie were pushed up her arms, causing the fabric to fray more. This hour of the morning suited her. ‘She obvs didn’t think it was suitable for her YouTube channel. I bet her agent quashed it.’

  ‘Her agent?’ Chips said disbelievingly. Nasreen herself found it hard to understand how both Gracie Williams and Lottie made money from sharing photos and videos of their lives online. It seemed pointless.

  ‘What’s the name of the brother?’ DC Green asked.

  ‘Harry Williams,’ Freddie answered. ‘I think it says how old he is on that one.’ She pointed at the printout Chips was reading.

  ‘Seventeen according to this,’ Chips said. ‘It says we’ve been harassing him.’

  ‘We?’ Saunders raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The force,’ Chips said.

  ‘He’s got form.’ Green was reading from her computer. ‘He’s on the PNC. Priors for breach of peace and drunk and disorderly.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Freddie said. ‘No one drinks anymore. It’s too much bother. Jobs are too competitive – you need the edge.’ Nasreen felt herself blush at the memory of last night. Freddie was right: she didn’t normally drink, and look what had happened when she had. The thought of everyone reading that email hit her afresh.

  ‘There’s more,’ Green said.

  Nasreen was relieved the conversation was moving on. The more tired she got, the harder it was to maintain her defences against the unrelenting feeling she’d messed up.

  ‘He made a complaint to the Independent Police Complaints Commission,’ Green said.

  Freddie let out a slow whistle. ‘What did you guys do?’

  ‘That’s enough, Freddie.’ Nasreen’s words came out harsher than she’d meant, but Freddie just rolled her eyes.

  ‘If she has a problem with the force, that could be a motive for her doing this,’ Chips said.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Saunders. ‘Time we had a little chat.’

  Nasreen’s brain crackled. ‘I’d like to have a crack at her, sir. She’s tried to ingratiate herself with me, she asked me to go for a drink before last night. She might think of me as a friend.’

  ‘Or a weak link in the chain.’ Saunders’s face was emotionless.

  Nasreen swallowed. ‘Possibly, but then she might feel like she’s in control: I could use that.’

  ‘I’ve seen her talking a lot to Sergeant Cudmore, she does seem to have taken a shine to her,’ Green said. Nasreen shot her a grateful look.

  Saunders sniffed. Nasreen realised why he’d never been won over by Lorna’s feminine charm: of course. She glanced at the photo on Saunders’s desk: him and his boyfriend. ‘What do you think, Chips?’ he said.

  ‘Worth letting the lass have a go.’ Chips crossed his arms. ‘I’m still getting my head round it.’ None of them liked thinking they’d been fooled.

  ‘Okay. It’s you and me, Cudmore. But if we’re getting nowhere, I’m bringing in Chips,’ Saunders said.

  Nasreen felt a pathetic rush of thankfulness. Despite her liaison with Burgone getting out, she was still seen as a useful member of the team. Perhaps she could survive this. She looked at her watch: the word survive jarring in her mind. Just over five hours for them to find Lottie. Would she survive?

  ‘Green,’ Saunders said. ‘Get the interview room ready. I’ll let PC Goldstein know you’re on your way, Cudmore, in case she makes a break for it.’

  Nasreen checked her ASP was in its holster, though it felt absurd to be doing this for Lorna, or whatever her real name was. She too had to pass through security to get in and out of the building; there’d have had to be a mighty cock-up if she’d managed to get a weapon in. But then it was a mighty cock-up that she’d got the job in the first place. Nasreen thought of Lottie and what the girl was going through: anger buzzed around her. She swatted it away, knowing the best way to make Lorna pay would be to get the truth out of her. ‘Are we arresting her?’

  Saunders frowned. ‘Let’s just ask her a few questions at this stage, I don’t want to caution her till we’ve got more evidence. Let’s treat her like a witness. See what she lets slip.’

  She nodded. A caution would mean they’d have to find a lawyer, and at this time of night that would take time they didn’t have. Take time Lottie didn’t have. T – 5 hours 30 minutes. They had to move cleverly – and fast.

  Chapter 40

  Thursday 17 March

  04:31

  T – 4 hrs 59 mins

  Lorna was still at her desk and Nasreen wasted no time approaching. She wanted her to run. Wanted to chase her. Wanted to slam her into the floor. PC Goldstein was by the door, under the pretence of keeping the journalists out. There was still a small knot huddled outside. Lorna had her coat over her shoulders, keeping off the cold. Nasreen was metres from her.

  ‘Gracie?’ she said.

  The girl’s head snapped round and she looked up at her, her face pale, eyes wide. She made a slight nod of her head. She wasn’t even going to try and hide it.

  ‘We’d like a word.’ Nasreen’s voice was cold, and calmer than she felt. Gracie looked bewildered. She turned to look at PC Goldstein, who had his sights trained on her, and beyond that to the photographers outside. ‘Don’t make a scene.’ Nasreen stepped back and signalled with her arm that she should walk in front of her. The girl rolled off her chair like a stroppy teen. Nasreen put a hand on her lower back. She could feel her shaking. ‘Into the lift, please.’

  They both got in and Nasreen pressed the button to go up. Gracie was staring at the floor. They were alone. She
thought of Chips in the back of the van with Liam. She thought of the dead runner lying in Greenwich Park. She thought of Lottie’s pleading, desperate eyes. No one would blame her if she grabbed Gracie. If she made her talk. But she knew she could never do that. Never be that kind of person. No matter what Gracie had done, she wouldn’t hurt her. That would make her one of them. That would make her as bad as Alex Black. And no matter what he did, he could never have that.

  The lift doors opened. ‘This way.’ She pushed Gracie towards the interview room. The girl stopped at the door, a small mew coming from her lips. ‘Drop the act,’ Nasreen said, irritated. ‘We’ve seen your videos – we know you’re no wallflower.’ She opened the door. Saunders was inside already, leaning back in his chair in a deliberately relaxed posture, designed to imply he couldn’t care less what about what they were about to discuss. Gracie faltered and turned her face up at Nasreen, her eyes still pitifully wide. She looked scared.

  ‘It’s okay. Have a seat.’ Nasreen shut the door behind them and took the chair next to Saunders.

  Gracie sat opposite, her jumper sleeves pulled down over her little hands, staring into her lap.

  ‘Do you know why we’ve asked to talk to you?’ Saunders said.

  Gracie looked up, her eyes were wider again. She looked panicked. Different. All traces of timid Lorna were gone. This wasn’t social ineptitude; this was fear. ‘I didn’t know he was going to do this!’ Her voice was loud, frantic. ‘I didn’t know he was going to take that girl. The DCI’s sister.’

  Nasreen thought of the way Gracie had been staring at the news. ‘She’s called Lottie.’

  Tears fell from her eyes. ‘I didn’t know until I heard this morning. I never thought he would do anything to hurt anyone. He told me he was just using the email addresses to expose malpractice.’ She was gripping the table now. ‘I only got the job – I only got the telephone numbers and stuff because he said I’d be helping. I thought I was doing the right thing. You have to believe me! I never would have helped him if I’d known.’ She’d broken so fast, it must have been pressing against her to get out.