‘I don’t think I can do this,’ Freddie said. Her whole body felt hot.
‘We have to.’ Nas’s eyes darted around the square reception room of Romeland High, checking all the exits.
‘Will they be able to trace the Snap?’
‘The tech lads will try. But it was from the same number as before, so my guess is it’ll have been rerouted.’ Nas’s tone was free of emotion, but she was anxiously twisting her fingers together.
The room the kidnapper was holding Lottie in looked dark, abandoned, scary. Freddie kept seeing the petrified eyes of the girl. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the photo again. Nas had ignored several calls, finally silencing her own phone. They had to focus on the interviews. She had to stop her teeth chattering.
‘What about the photo itself – could they trace that?’
Nas shook her head, approaching the receptionist with thick-framed glasses, who hadn’t looked up from her beige computer. Freddie looked around the room. It was surreal standing here. The white-painted walls were yellowing with age. It was like being inside a giant nicotine experiment. Blue felt pinboards punctuated the walls like clots on an x-ray.
‘Good afternoon, I’m Detective Sergeant Nasreen Cudmore.’ Nas showed her warrant card to the scowling receptionist. ‘Ms Bradshaw is expecting me.’ The school bell sounded: end of lunch. Freddie could hear shouts and voices, shuffling feet, doors banging and chairs scraping as the kids went back to class. She blinked away images of Lottie gagged with gaffer tape.
The receptionist took the card in her peach-painted nails.
‘You’re here about Chloe Strofton?’ She whispered the name as if it were a delicious secret. ‘Such a tragic waste.’ Her face puckering into faux concern. ‘Young people nowadays, they have it all given to them on a plate.’
Student debt, high unemployment, astronomical house prices, environmental destruction, thought Freddie. Yeah, so much given to them.
‘We never had mobile phones or laptops in my day and we just got on with it. If you ask me, I think they have it too easy.’
‘We didn’t ask you,’ Freddie’s horror quickly segued into anger. How could someone like this work with children?
Nas shot her a warning glance.
The receptionist extended a gnarled hand. ‘And your ID?’
Oh shit.
‘This is my colleague Freddie Venton.’ Nas gave the woman her winning smile. Freddie couldn’t even pretend. ‘She’s a specialised consultant working on this case.’
‘Is she DBS checked?’
‘No,’ answered Freddie.
‘I’m not sure I can let her in. She could be anyone.’ She glared at Freddie. ‘She could be a paedophile.’
Oh yeah, I’m just hanging around looking at photos of kidnapped girls and interviewing dead girls’ friends for a laugh.
‘Sign in.’ The receptionist slapped a clipboard onto the desk. ‘She’s not to be left unattended at any time. Even if she needs the toilet.’ Her dog’s-bum mouth twisted into a smile that suggested she’d won. Freddie signed her name as Jack Hoff.
A woman entered the reception from one of the far doors. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mrs Smailes.’ In her late twenties, she had cropped blonde hair. Black Converse trainers complimented her smart skinny black trousers and neat grey jumper. ‘I’m Ms Bradshaw. We spoke on the phone.’
Nas introduced them and Ms Bradshaw shook their hands. ‘We’re all devastated about Chloe. Such a bright girl. The pupils are very shocked by it all. We’re a small school, and I have to say, thankfully, we don’t have much experience of this.’ Ms Bradshaw’s efficient tone couldn’t disguise her anxiety. It must be frightening to feel responsible for all these young lives. Freddie thought of Lottie: they were responsible for her life. ‘If you follow me, I’ve arranged for us to use the school nurse’s office. She only comes in for vaccinations. Though we have had a counsellor coming in for any pupils who wish to see her.’
The hallway was empty. Voices, mostly those of teachers, drifted from behind closed classroom doors. Mineral or organic matter deposited by water, air or ice is called sediment … And y equals? One wall of the corridor was constructed of glass, overlooking a small square of concrete, on the other side of which was the canteen. More felt pinboards lined the other wall, plastered with posters advertising a forthcoming school disco. It was all so … ordinary. Chloe had walked down this hallway, gone to class, left, and vanished. What had happened to make her do that?
‘We’re in here.’ Ms Bradshaw pushed open a green door. The room was small, but sunlit, with low, comfortable chairs that were clearly designed to encourage pupils to relax, to talk.
‘Thank you, Ms Bradshaw,’ said Nas. ‘This is perfect.’ It felt separate to the rest of the squeaky corridors, with their dark rubber scuff marks. Safer, as if they were retreating from the threat of the investigation.
‘Call me Caroline, please.’
‘I will need to ask you to sit in on the conversations, if that’s okay, Caroline?’ Nas’s tone had lost the supercharged charm she’d used for the secretary, but it was still warm. How could she detach so quickly from the horror of that image? How could she stop seeing the terror in Lottie’s eyes? ‘As I explained on the phone, these aren’t official interviews, not at this stage, but I will need an independent responsible adult here while talking to minors.’
‘I could have done it,’ Freddie said.
Nas smiled as if she’d made a joke. ‘I’d like to talk to Melisha Khan, Chloe’s best friend.’
‘Yes. I also requested that Ruby Dawson come and see you. She, Melisha and Chloe were a bit of a trio,’ said Caroline, indicating for her and Nas to sit down. Freddie took a chair, its foam not quite as soft as she’d hoped. She pulled her jacket off and slung it over the back.
Nas was still standing. ‘I’d also like to speak to a pupil called William Taylor – we understand he and Chloe had been going out?’
It sounded so childish: going out. But Freddie could still feel the heat from her own teen relationships. Alfie from her weekend job at Waterstones had been lanky and pale, with fine, floppy hair she liked to push out of his eyes. They’d bonded over their love of The Smiths. He wasn’t her first, but he was certainly the first to leave a mark.
‘Do you know why they split up?’ Freddie asked.
Caroline looked surprised, as if the question had never occurred to her. ‘No. So many youngsters form relationships, break up. It’s part of growing up. Are the children suspected of something, Sergeant?’
‘Please, call me Nasreen. I don’t want to put the pupils on edge.’
‘You’re a cop, Nas. They’re not gonna treat you like you’re their best bud.’
Nas frowned. ‘Freddie, can I borrow your jumper?’ Freddie chucked her hoodie at her.
‘I’ll go and fetch the students,’ Ms Bradshaw said.
‘Just Melisha and Ruby first,’ Nas said. ‘I’d like to speak to the girls without William present.’
A slight shadow passed across Caroline’s face. Did she suspect Nas wasn’t telling her everything? ‘I’ll find out where William is and get him to come along … in about ten minutes?’
‘Perfect.’ Nas was so good at making people do what she wanted, Freddie couldn’t help but smile. Caroline stepped out, closing the door behind her.
Nas took her suit jacket off. ‘Leave the questions to me. When they come in.’
‘But what if I’ve got something to say?’
‘I’m already sailing close to the wind by having you sit in on this.’
‘It’s not like you to break the rules.’ She didn’t bother toning down the sarcasm. What was the point of being here if all she did was sit like a pot plant in the corner?
Nas pulled the hoodie over her white button-up shirt. ‘I didn’t have time to set this up properly. I need to extract any relevant intelligence and get it back to the team.’
The spectre of Lottie filled the small room. ‘I’ll behave.’
‘Good.’ Nas zipped the hoodie up. ‘How do I look?’
‘Like a copper wearing a hoodie over her suit.’
‘Right.’ Nas unzipped it and flung it back at her. ‘I’ll play to that: authority. Chloe and her friends have no history of trouble. But I want to know what that Facebook message is about.’
Freddie thought of the lies she told. Yes, I looked for new jobs today. Yes, I wrote a pitch today. ‘Just because they’re young, it doesn’t mean they’ll trust you.’
‘This is hardly a hostile inner-city school is it?’ Nas gestured at the pastel landscape on the wall.
‘And what d’you know about hostile inner-city schools?’ She’d meant it as a joke, but being in a school again, with Nas, and talking about concealing the truth gave her voice an edge.
Instantly Nas cooled. ‘When I was a DC I worked on a stabbing at a school in Hackney.’
Freddie tried to imagine a younger Nas – the one who’d got lost somewhere between the shy fourteen-year-old girl she’d known and this composed, cool-headed policewoman. It was still odd: Nas, the girl she used to share her penny sweets with, was a cop. She’d thought the police were sexist, racist, homophobic, transphobic dinosaurs. But while she’d seen things that reinforced this view, she’d also seen the drive, commitment, and sacrifice Nas and her fellow officers made. And – she lightly touched her scar – how they put themselves in danger every day. By choice. She wanted to ask after Nas’s old colleagues, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Instead, she asked, ‘What happened – at the school stabbing?’
Nas sat in the chair facing the door, then changed her mind, standing up and dragging another so that she could sit with her back to the door, facing two empty chairs, the windows behind them. Freddie thought she wasn’t going to answer, then something akin to grief quivered across her face. This one had hurt.
‘Two boys had a set-up going where they’d sell drugs – hash mostly – to other kids. Then when they’d pocketed the money, they’d pull a knife on the other kid and steal the drugs back. Small time, but they probably would have built on it.’
Would have? Freddie had a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘The girlfriend of one of the boys had set up a mark. Unfortunately the mark was also carrying a knife. There was a struggle, and the buyer, the one who’d come for the hash, was stabbed. He was seventeen.’ Her eyes were distant. Was she reliving it? Did Nas have nightmares?
‘Did he make it?’
‘He bled out. By the time the paramedics arrived it was too late. The two lads did a runner, but the girlfriend didn’t do a bunk with her boyfriend. She cradled the dying lad in her arms. Afterwards she said she couldn’t leave him on his own, even though she knew she’d be in trouble.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She knew what they were up to. She knew they would rob him, and that they were carrying knives. Under the joint enterprise law, a person may be found guilty for another person’s crime if the suspect knowingly assisted in it.’
‘But she stayed with a dying boy – that must count for something?’
‘The law is the law.’
‘But that’s not right.’
‘It’s not our job to prosecute and sentence people. We gather the evidence; we charge them.’
‘And you’re okay with that?’ Freddie believed in justice for victims, but how could Nas think that was a fair outcome? What did she think should happen to the person who’d kidnapped Lottie? Did she even care?
‘She was fifteen. And pregnant.’
Freddie started at a knock at the door. Ms Bradshaw poked her head round. ‘Okay if we come in?’
Nas banished the detached look from her face, replacing it with a warm smile. ‘Of course.’
Behind Caroline were two girls in navy blazers, pleated navy skirts and opaque tights. Freddie immediately recognised Melisha Khan from her Facebook profile photo. Youth clung to her full cheeks, highlighted rather than hidden by the carefully contoured make-up she wore.
‘Nasreen, this is Melisha and Ruby,’ Caroline said.
Melisha nodded. ‘Hello,’ the girl behind her said. Ruby Dawson had long hair like her friend, but where Melisha’s was jet black, Ruby’s was bleached blonde, and worked into curls. She was wearing less make-up, only mascara framing her green-blue eyes. She reminded Freddie of a mermaid.
‘Nice to meet you. Do sit down.’ Nas indicated the two chairs that faced into the room and Freddie realised what she’d done: the girls wouldn’t be able to see Ms Bradshaw, or the window, without twisting backwards. They only had one place they could look: straight at Sergeant Cudmore.
Seconds ago Nas had been talking about a dying seventeen year old and a pregnant girl who’d been convicted for a crime she didn’t commit. Minutes ago they’d received a shocking warning from the kidnapper. Yet Nas was smiling at the young girls as though everything was fine. Freddie couldn’t do it. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. Sitting in this calm room, in a sheltered provincial school, Freddie was scared. The first Snap from Lottie had been a grenade. This second photo a pulled pin. She’d been here before. Who would get destroyed in the explosion?