Kitabı oku: «Watch Me», sayfa 2
‘Speak for yourself!’ Saunders reached a powerful arm down for the vitamin drink at his feet. ‘But I can’t be doing with kids. Not the maternal type. Isn’t that why we got her in?’ He was watching for her reaction.
Nasreen kept her features placid. Did he know? ‘What was the name?’ Her voice sounded strangled, she coughed to cover it.
‘Someone needs to rehydrate.’ Saunders took a glug from his drink. She concentrated on looking at her phone, as if she were about to type notes.
‘Strofton. Chloe Strofton.’ DCI Burgone looked at his paperwork. ‘Aged fifteen. Parents Deborah Strofton, forty-six, and Robert Strofton, fifty-two. Two sisters: Freya Strofton, thirteen …’ It felt like Nasreen had plunged into freezing water. It filled her ears, her mouth, her nose, her eyes. She knew what was coming. ‘And Gemma Strofton, twenty-three.’
It was her. Gemma. The girl that had changed Nasreen’s life. Chloe had succeeded where her older sister Gemma had failed. She had to say something. She knew the victim, or at least she had known the victim’s sister eight years ago. She opened her mouth. A blast of remembered anger, fear and sadness hit her, ripping jaggedly through time. She could see herself, lying on her single bed in her pink-painted bedroom, fourteen years old, sobbing. Desperate to make it better. ‘I’ll take the case, sir.’
DCI Burgone nodded. ‘Good. A young woman – like Chips says, you’ll have more chance of connecting with these kids.’
Young? Was that what he thought of her? And he’d said woman; did he agree with Saunders? Had she been brought onto the team as a female officer to deal with the emotional stuff after all? He smiled, and she stared back into his eyes. The same eyes she’d stared into last night.
Chips and Saunders were gathering up their stuff, Saunders groaning and stretching his arms out as he stood. Nasreen had a new email. He’d replied. Her chest constricted. Everything raced past her: the wine, the email she’d sent, Gemma, Chloe, DCI Jack Burgone’s lips on her.
To: NCudmore@btinternet.com
From: JonathanBurgone@police.uk
We need to talk.
Those four little words never signalled anything good. They heralded the end of relationships, disciplinary actions, bad news. Saunders was back in his blazer, Chips was headed for the door. Looking up she caught the DCI’s eye: static shot through her. She couldn’t breathe; she could only think of what he tasted like, what he felt like, how he’d made her feel. He’d talked to her, listened to what she’d had to say. Or she thought he had. Was it a trick of the alcohol? Had she wanted to believe he thought she was smart? He could’ve just been being polite to a new member of his team. But when they’d stood outside the pub, laughing in the rain, she’d seen it in his eyes: lust. He’d felt the connection too. She couldn’t be on her own with him here in the office. Not yet. She needed to get things straight in her head. She stood, knocking her chair into the table behind. She walked fast to catch up with Chips as he and Saunders reached their open plan office, aware the DCI was just behind her. Her phone beeped. At first she thought it was an echo, but the others’ phones all sounded at the same time. A cacophony of beeps.
‘What the?’ Chips frowned. ‘Which one of you silly buggers is sending Snapchat photos now – I thought we’d had enough of that last night.’
Saunders grimaced, turning his phone over in his hand. The DCI pulled his from his suit pocket. Now was not the time for PPI insurance junk mail. Nasreen swiped the screen of her phone and it opened on her new Snap. It was from a number she didn’t recognise. Time to change her security settings. The timer in the top right-hand corner was ticking down. Six seconds, five seconds. It was a photo of a typed note, overlaid with a text banner. Nasreen’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Holy shit!’ Chips said.
‘Is that another suicide note?’ Saunders asked. ‘How the hell did they get my number?’
‘And mine!’ Chips grunted.
Nasreen scanned the words, the name at the bottom: Lottie Burgone. ‘It’s my sister’s number.’ The DCI frowned. ‘Is this a joke? Did one of you send this?’ He glared at her.
‘No.’ Nasreen looked round. They were all shaking their heads. Alarm flickered in Saunders’s eyes. She looked at the photo:
A pointless opulent life leads you onto nothing.
I can’t go on. Lottie Burgone
‘Get her on the phone – now. Call her, Jack,’ Chips was saying. Nasreen stared at the words in the caption that overlaid the note:
You have 6 seconds to read this and 24 hours to save the girl’s life.
Her brain crackled. This wasn’t a wind up. This was a threat. Her fingers flew. Four, three, two … She screenshot the image, taking a photo of it half a second before it disappeared forever.
Chapter 3
Wednesday 16 March
09:31
T – 24 hrs
‘I’m calling the number.’ Saunders had his phone to his ear. ‘Straight to voicemail. It is her number, yeah, your sister’s, sir?’
‘Yes. My phone recognises it. I don’t understand … Why would she send this?’ The DCI was holding his phone in both hands. Nasreen thought he was shaking it, then she realised he was shaking.
‘Do you have another contact for her, sir?’ Nasreen reached over her desk for the landline.
‘What’s her address?’ Chips ran round to his computer.
‘She lives in Greenwich. She’s a student at the university,’ DCI Burgone stuttered.
‘Undergraduate?’ said Nasreen. ‘How old?’
‘Sociology. Eighteen. She’ll be nineteen next month.’
Three years age difference to Chloe Strofton. A similar demographic. Young teenage woman. Student. Could she have seen the fuss around Chloe’s suicide online? Was this a contagious suicide attempt? ‘Any other telephone number, sir?’
‘Zero, two, zero, three …’
Nasreen wrote the number down as the DCI said it.
‘That’s her flat number.’ He blinked. Held his mobile to his ear. Nasreen heard the tinny sound of the girl’s voicemail message. ‘She lives in halls. There are five other flatmates. All girls. I think. I usually take her out for dinner. We meet at the restaurant.’
‘I’m sure there’s some innocent explanation,’ Chips said. ‘The lassie or one of her pals mucking about.’ Nasreen saw Saunders give him a look. The line rang in her ear.
‘Does she have any history of mental illness, sir?’ asked Saunders.
‘No, of course not,’ snapped Burgone. ‘Sorry. I know you’re just … following procedure.’ The words sounded cold. Callous.
Saunders cleared his throat. ‘And does she have any history of trying to harm herself?’
‘No. She’s happy. She’s really into running. Fitness. This isn’t her. She wouldn’t …’ His face paled. ‘I’ll send her a WhatsApp message. Sometimes it’s easier to contact her that way.’
The phone at the other end of Nasreen’s call was picked up. A woman – young, breathless, anxious – answered. ‘Lottie?’
She had been waiting for her call. Lottie wasn’t there. Had this flatmate received the same frightening Snapchat? Nasreen’s stomach fell away. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Nasreen Cudmore. Is Lottie – Charlotte …’ She looked at the DCI; he nodded his affirmation. She tried to keep her face neutral. ‘Is Charlotte Burgone there, please?’
‘Has something happened to Lottie?’ The girl sounded panicked.
‘Can I ask your name, please, miss?’ She looked straight ahead at her computer, away from the DCI.
‘Yes. Sorry. It’s Bea. Beatrice Perkins. I’m Lottie’s friend. Her flatmate.’
‘And is Lottie there, Bea?’ Nasreen felt the eyes of the room on her. Chips had paused from typing on his computer.
‘No. She’s gone. I mean, she went for a run this morning. But she never came back. I tried her phone but she didn’t answer. And I got this weird Snap. And oh god – have you found her? Is she okay?’ The girl’s words fell over themselves – fast, frantic. Nasreen looked up at DI Saunders and shook her head.
‘I’ll get on to the university.’ Saunders picked up his phone.
‘Christ.’ The DCI was staring at his mobile. ‘She hasn’t picked up the WhatsApp message yet. It says she hasn’t seen it. But if she’s running then …’
‘And at what time did she go for her run, Bea?’ Nasreen noted the times on her pad – the timeline of a missing person.
‘Six a.m. She always goes at the same time. She’s a morning person. Dani – our flatmate – she saw her leave. She was up to get to the library early. She’s got coursework due.’ The girl was babbling. They’d need to speak to the other flatmate. ‘Lottie always wakes me when she gets back. She’s always back at seven thirty. Always. But she didn’t come back today. I didn’t realise until after nine. I slept through. I missed my lecture.’
‘Does Lottie run alone?’
‘Yes. No one else can get up at that time each day. She’s a machine,’ Bea said. ‘I mean in a good way. Oh god. This is awful.’
‘Take a deep breath for me, Bea, you’re doing great.’ Nasreen kept her tone even. ‘Does Lottie ever go anywhere else straight from her run? The library? Another friend’s perhaps? A boyfriend’s?’
‘No. She comes home to shower. She wouldn’t go anywhere else before that. She likes her hair to be done.’ Bea sounded small, far away. Nasreen wished she could put her arm around the girl.
‘And has Lottie been upset about anything lately?’ She knew what she was asking, in front of her boss, in front of Lottie’s brother.
‘No! She wouldn’t kill herself! She wouldn’t!’ Bea’s voice wavered and smashed like porcelain on kitchen tiles.
Even those closest to suicide victims don’t always suspect that anything is wrong. ‘Is there anyone else there with you, Bea? We may need to send an officer to come and speak to you.’
‘Dani will be back soon. She should be. Oh god. Lottie wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t.’
Nasreen looked at her watch. ‘You’re doing great, Bea, just a few more questions. So the last time any of you saw Lottie Burgone was at six o’clock this morning?’ When I was coming home from sleeping with her brother. ‘So she’s not been seen for the last three and a half hours?’ It wasn’t normally a priority at this stage, but Lottie had sent a suicide note. As far as Nasreen knew, DI Saunders and Chips had never met Lottie Burgone, and she certainly hadn’t. Why would she send a suicide note to all their phones? How would she have their numbers? You have 6 seconds to read this and 24 hours to save the girl. Her gut contracted. This sounded more like a ransom note.
‘We haven’t seen her since then. I should’ve woken up earlier. I should’ve gone to look for her.’
Nasreen looked at Chips as he picked up his handset. ‘I’ll get onto the local force,’ he said. ‘Get some eyes on the ground.’ His voice was gruff, focused.
‘Bea, I’m going to need a list of all Lottie’s friends, boyfriends, anyone she’s been hanging out with recently. Do you think you can do that?’ Nasreen asked.
Bea Perkins took a big breath in. ‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, Bea.’ Chips was now onto the Greenwich force. He gave her a nod. ‘Bea, we’re going to have someone with you very shortly to go through that list. They’ll be in uniform. In the meantime, I’m going to give you my number here and my mobile as well. If you hear from Lottie, or think of anything else before my colleagues get there, call me immediately. Have you got a pen?’ She heard the girl rummaging in the background, imagining the chaos of a student bedroom. This girl shouldn’t be doing anything more than worrying about her classes today. She gave Bea the number.
‘I’ve put in a request for some floaters.’ Chips was talking as if it was just another job. As if they weren’t talking about the guv’s sister. ‘We’ll run a cell site check on her phone, see if we can pinpoint where she was when that message was sent.’
Burgone nodded.
She wouldn’t interrogate him, but they needed to get as much information as possible. The DCI hadn’t seemed to blink for over a minute. Chips stood awkwardly, unsure whether to offer a pat of comfort to his boss and friend. DI Saunders was on his own phone at the other end of the office, his back turned to them, his voice low, rolling out the plan. Nasreen spoke gently. ‘Is there anywhere else she might go, sir? Friends from home?’ She didn’t even know where Burgone was from. ‘A boyfriend’s? What about your parents’?’
‘Oh god – Mum and Pa.’
Nasreen flinched at the affectionate term. Under normal circumstances, that would have earned a gruff laugh from Chips. It was like seeing something soft and intimate, and Nasreen didn’t want to intrude further than they had to. Burgone seemed to summon strength from inside, his face taking on its usual self-assured expression.
‘Our parents are in the South of France. I’ll call them. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. That I know of. I’ve met some of her uni flatmates – Bea, who was on the telephone to Cudmore, and another, Dani. They’re nice girls. I doubt they’ve had any involvement with the police before. I don’t know about the others she lives with. Before college Lottie was a boarder at Bedales, I think she’s still in touch with some of the girls from there.’ Worry lines fanned out from his eyes. ‘She spends a lot of time on social media, particularly Instagram – she has a number of sponsorship deals.’
‘Sponsorship for what?’ Was Jack’s sister famous? Had he ever even mentioned his family to her? This felt all wrong: she should have been finding out about him casually in a pub over dinner, not during a criminal investigation.
‘Companies, mostly sports ones, I believe. They send her products and pay for her to feature them on the site.’
‘She’s famous?’ asked Chips. Burgone didn’t respond.
Nasreen wanted to know what the DCI’s sister looked like. ‘Which brands?’
‘I’m not sure. My mother will have a list, she helps Lottie do her accounts.’
Saunders was walking casually over, hands in his pockets, as if strolling in the park. Did he know something already? Something from his phone call? Or was he just acting calm, trying not to distract the DCI? Her brain automatically ran through the questions and connections she would draw if they were talking to anyone else. She woke her desktop and searched for Lottie Burgone and Instagram on Google. Chips and Saunders were standing behind her, Saunders’s citrus aftershave enveloping them all. The DCI was pacing.
‘There.’ Chips pointed at the first search result.
Lottie’s account opened on the screen; she was called LottieLondoner. Her profile picture showed the same classic bone structure as her brother, but instead of his short, dark ruffles of hair, Lottie had long blonde tendrils that hung around her tanned face, her cheeks still soft like a child’s. She was thin, and very toned. There were countless photos of her in yoga positions that Nasreen knew, from the odd class she’d taken, took time, dedication and real strength to perfect. She must spend hours exercising. Could someone who’s flooded with endorphins be a credible suicide risk? Lottie’s account was full of taut, tanned skin: acres of it. The scoop of a traps muscle bisected by a bright green vest strap; the slice of a shoulder blade highlighted by a peach racerback; a hewn stomach underscored by tight, pale blue leggings. At no point was Lottie naked or even provocatively dressed, but as she scrolled past photos of her doing handstands, legs split apart, knees bent into right angles, her torso bending backwards, Nasreen felt there was something sexual about them – even if the girl wasn’t conscious of it. It made her uneasy. This job had a way of making you view everything through the cynical eyes of society’s undesirables. There was Lottie on the beach. In the park. In the gym. And a number of photos of food: white plates of brightly coloured fruits; sliced avocados; and Lottie smiling and sipping green juice through a pink straw. Perfection.
‘Athletic lass,’ Chips said.
‘I have those protein shakes.’ Saunders sounded impressed. Burgone hadn’t come to look at his sister’s page.
‘Yeah, but you can’t stand on your head, can you,’ Chips said.
‘I can do the splits,’ he said. It was a ludicrous mental image. He shrugged. ‘I did a lot of gymnastics when I was a kid.’ Subject closed.
Nasreen tried not to smile at the idea of alpha-male Saunders in a leotard. She hadn’t made it to spin class this week, and, she thought guiltily, she’d had cereal for dinner three out of the last four nights. Along the top of the screen were the account’s stats. Lottie had posted 2,253 times. ‘She’s got 24,000 followers?’ Incredible!
‘Has she?’ Burgone smiled to himself, as if he expected no less of her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Chips was frowning.
She clicked the first image: Lottie in the park, balancing on one leg, the other stretched back and up, like an arabesque. She was laughing, her hair falling forwards in soft waves around her face. It had 340 likes. ‘She has fans,’ she scrolled through the seventy-seven comments:
@Boinggirl Beautiful hair!
@Reasontolive Lottie I love you. I don’t know how you do it! <3 <3 <3 Please follow me back!!!
@CarlyAngel86 You’re such an inspiration. Thank you for sharing the real you.
Why would a girl with a seemingly perfect life kill herself? And why send the suicide note via Snapchat? And why to them? Tell us where you are, Lottie. Tell us how to help you.
Nasreen looked from the sunshine of Lottie’s Instagram account to Burgone. He didn’t meet any of their eyes. She longed to tell him everything was going to be all right. But she didn’t. Training and experience taught you not to make promises you couldn’t keep – not to a victim’s family. And that’s what he was now. No longer the guv. No longer in control. Jack Burgone was on the wrong side of the investigation.
Chapter 4
Wednesday 16 March
10:15
T – 23 hrs 15 mins
Burgone had gone for some fresh air after calling his parents; they’d heard nothing from their daughter since they’d last spoken to her two days ago. She’d seemed fine. Normal. That word you always watched for. The thought of anything happening to either of Nasreen’s younger sisters physically hurt her. What had it been like to make that call? Chips or Saunders should have spoken to the family, listened for the telltale signs of tension, lies swimming under the surface, but it didn’t seem right. This was the DCI. It was his family. His missing sister.
Superintendent Lewis had told Burgone he was to take a back seat now. Chips and Saunders were managing the investigation.
Nasreen looked at her watch. She had been ignoring her bladder for the last thirty minutes. She didn’t want to leave her desk until they’d located Lottie, but she couldn’t hang on any longer. The hoped-for phone call that stated this was all a terrible mix-up hadn’t come. Grabbing her phone and her handbag she stood up.
‘Where you going, Sergeant?’ Saunders’s voice rang out over the room.
Nasreen stared at him. Are you really doing this? ‘Just popping to the ladies’. If that’s all right?’
He turned his chair so his knees pointed at her, the navy fabric of his suit pulled taut. He nodded his angular face at the empty cups of water and coffee on her desk. ‘You better not be too hungover to do your job properly, Cudmore.’
Nasreen felt her face colour. Was he testing her? So much for trying to rehydrate. Chips didn’t look up. ‘I’m fine. Sir.’
‘Fine isn’t good enough,’ Saunders snapped, whirling his chair round to face his desk. ‘We have a reputation of being the best of the force, and I’m not having you dent that on my watch, Cudmore. Pick it up.’
A wave of disbelief passed over her – did he expect her to ask for permission to go to the bathroom?
Without turning around, Saunders barked. ‘Get on with it then!’
Nasreen let the door swing shut behind her. How dare he talk to her like that? They’d all hit the ground running on this one. The superintendent had authorised ten floaters: four here at the office, six out in Greenwich. No questions asked when it was one of your own. Officers from Greenwich West were questioning Bea and Lottie’s other flatmates. Tracking down her other friends, shaking students from their beds, from others’ beds. The thought she wasn’t doing everything she could to help Burgone made her feel sick. Burgone wouldn’t think that, would he? That was just Saunders posturing, surely?
There were two floaters ahead of her in the hallway, and with a sinking feeling she recognised the hunched shape of DC Morris. She’d met him on her first day here and found him to be odious. Rather than doing his actual job, he preferred to use his time collecting leverage, real or fabricated, on nominals and colleagues. He was a terrible choice for this investigation, but needs must and one more person, even one as insidious as Morris, was better than none. Walking beside him, her ginger hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, was DC Jan Green. Nasreen knew little about Green, except that she was sorry the pale, freckled woman had got landed with Morris.
‘I bet you it’s a wind up.’ Morris’s voice was a low rumble that threatened to break into a laugh. ‘A spoilt brat who’s not getting enough attention – you know the family’s minted, right?’
‘I hope the guv doesn’t overhear you discussing his sister,’ Nasreen said. They jumped and turned to face her.
DC Green’s eyes were wide, and up close Nasreen could see they were a pretty almond shape. The constable recovered quickly, tucking her hands behind her, standing to attention. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’
Morris, a good ten years older than Nasreen, remained slouched. ‘It’s no secret Little Lord Fauntleroy was born with a silver spoon.’
Nasreen glared at him. ‘I wouldn’t keep DI Saunders waiting. You don’t want to get landed with the CCTV tapes.’ This was everyone’s least favourite job, and Nasreen knew Saunders disliked Morris’s whiney demeanour.
‘Must be nice to just open your legs when you want to skip all the work, hey, Cudmore?’ Morris opened and closed two fingers in front of her, his face a mix of lechery and disgust.
Nasreen knew she wasn’t unreasonable to look at. It was why she tied her long hair back at work. Glancing at DC Green’s boxy tan trouser suit, she wondered if she too opted to dress androgynously for efficacy. Could Morris have seen her and Burgone last night? No, he would have been more graphic. She kept her voice quiet, edging it with threat. She’d learned that from Saunders. ‘We have a missing eighteen-year-old girl. Get your mind out of the gutter, your finger out your arse and get on with your job, Constable.’ DC Green dipped her chin, but Nasreen caught the smirk. Morris’s eyes were full of hate. ‘Get on with it!’
It wasn’t like Nasreen to pull rank, but Saunders had got to her. If she needed to prove her commitment to this case then she would. The nearest ladies’ was two floors below, so she chose the stairs over the lift to get her thoughts straight.
In the bathroom she looked in the mirror for signs she’d given anything away. Apart from the shadows of the late night under her eyes, she looked normal. Alone for the first time since she’d arrived at work, she let her face fall, and the strain of holding it up hit her. The Morrises of the world didn’t normally rile her. There’d be time to get her head straight later – possibly a lot of time, if Burgone let her go from Gremlin – but for now she had a job to do.
The door to the ladies’ opened behind her. She straightened, brushing at a stray hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Lorna, the younger of the two receptionists, walked in. Her brunette hair was curled back into a sophisticated chignon and held in place with a lavender butterfly grip that somehow managed to look both naive and winsome. A new hire, and at the tender age of nineteen, Lorna’s recent arrival on the staff had caused mass hysteria among Nasreen’s male colleagues. There’d almost been a fight over who would get to buy her a pink Prosecco first when she’d come to the pub. The girl dipped her delicate pointed chin to her pastel V-neck sweater. Nasreen couldn’t imagine wearing such girly clothes to work. But then she couldn’t imagine mouse-like Lorna being trained in hand-to-hand combat. They may work in the same building, but they had very different jobs.
‘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.
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