Nasreen watched as Green flashed her ID at the uniformed officer guarding the cordon and he lifted it for her to duck under. Behind them, the bomb disposal unit were packing their long-armed robot back into their van. The officer who’d investigated the package, resembling a large, threatening mole in his protective overalls and reinforced diving bell helmet, was now stripped of his weighty equipment. He was laughing with his team in an unremarkable t-shirt and trousers. What was it like to spend your life approaching what could be explosive devices by choice? She knew a lot of the unit were ex-army.
‘Thought you could do with one of these.’ Green held up a bag from Espress-oh’s.
‘You lifesaver, how did you get past the guard?’ As potential contamination risks, Lorna, Chips, Freddie and she had been filed out to a separate area. Swabbed down and scanned in the same way she imagined the package had been. All of them were clean. No traces of explosives. No traces of biological or chemical weaponry.
‘I told him you were my boss and diabetic, and if I didn’t get this to you, you’d be passing out.’ Green opened the bag and passed over a coffee.
Nasreen grinned. ‘No wonder he jumped to it: I’ve already caused them enough aggro.’
‘I’ve got one for Chips, Venton, and the reception girl too.’
Chips and Freddie were sitting on the open back of a van just over from them. They’d managed to find some fags and someone daft enough to give them a lighter this close to a bomb scare. Lorna had proved herself more resilient than Nasreen had given her credit for. Once it was clear she was safe, she had been keen to get back inside. Especially as she’d left her handbag and phone there.
‘Any sign of Saunders or the guv?’ She knew Chips had spoken to Saunders on the phone.
‘Nah, they were stuck round the back I think. They roped off two streets on both sides, had everyone stay inside and away from the windows.’
‘And all for nothing, hey? That’s going to win me some brownie points,’ she grimaced. The money this charade would’ve cost. Had she overreacted? Two little words had caused all this. But the thought of what was in the box was still frightening. Sealed within all that tape. She didn’t want to think what might be that shape and size. Watch me. You used your eyes to watch, didn’t you? She tried to stem the scenarios that were running through her mind.
Green turned as Matt Snow, a senior crime scene manager, emerged from inside the building, scanned the small crowd and headed for them. ‘Here we go,’ Green said.
‘Sir.’ Chips eased himself off the truck, stubbed his cigarette out and came to join her as they watched Matt walk the length of the street to reach them; a lone white SOCO-suited figure against the empty road and towering buildings.
‘The moment of truth,’ Chips muttered grimly. Out here they were shrouded in the cold shadows of the buildings behind them. The eerie silence of the evacuated street added to the feeling of unease. Even the pigeons had scarpered.
‘McCain.’ Matt came to a halt the other side of the fluttering tape. He could only be five foot eight, but he still curled his shoulders towards the ground, as if he were permanently trying to hide. He had a nice face when he smiled, but he seemed to do that rarely. This was the third time she’d worked with him. Each time a serious crime. ‘This your party, is it?’
‘I radioed it in,’ said Nasreen.
‘We had reason to believe we were dealing with something nasty, Matt,’ Chips said. His hands in his pockets were an attempt to keep things casual; there’d be time to answer questions later. ‘You open it up yet?’
‘Thought you might want to see,’ said Matt, looking at Nasreen, ‘as you caused all this fuss.’
‘Aye.’ Chips stood forward, holding the tape for her to duck under.
Freddie’s voice from behind made her jump. ‘Can I come?’
‘No,’ Chips and Nasreen said in unison.
Freddie looked pissed off, but it was better this way. She didn’t want to give her any more images to have nightmares over. Nasreen knew she was privileged to be going in with the DI, and tried to feel it. A big part of her wanted to stay far away from the package. ‘Green, keep an eye on Freddie and Lorna. Hopefully it won’t be too much longer before we can all get back.’
‘Bloody freezing out here,’ Freddie muttered as they walked off – Matt in front, Chips and Nasreen a stride behind; in formation, like flying ducks.
‘Sir, I’m sorry about bringing Freddie back without clearing it.’
‘I’d be thankful you had half the bomb squad keeping you and Saunders separated, lass.’
‘The messages, the original note regarding Lottie, the photo, and the video – they were all sent to Freddie too.’
Chips cricked his neck to look at her. ‘Why?’
‘Whoever has Lottie, whoever is sending them, they want Freddie involved.’
‘That’s another link to your Hashtag Murderer case.’
‘I know.’ The more things stacked up, the more she doubted the prison officer’s promises that no communication was getting in or out from Apollyon.
They were nearing the door; the glass front of the building loomed up, opaque from the cloudy sky, a grey marble tombstone.
‘The SOCO team get anything off the package?’ Chips asked.
‘Whoever handled it wore gloves,’ Matt answered. The reception had been transformed into a crime scene. The package was still on the desk. A glistening masking-tape hive, around which the suited SOCOs buzzed. Lorna had already confirmed it was a normal courier who delivered it – the one who brought the stationery supplies. It had been sent via a standard firm, picked up from a Mail Boxes in Angel. They had no cameras, and couldn’t remember anything about who’d brought the package in. ‘There was a hair caught in the tape: long, blonde.’
Nasreen’s stomach hardened: Lottie had long blonde hair. The remaining SOCOs stood to the side as they drew near. Matt passed them gloves and masks. She tried to keep her breath steady as she pulled the mask over her face, made sure all her hair was tied back. Chips’s gloves snapped against his hands. Black powder marks covered the box where it had been dusted for prints. Matt picked up a scalpel from the reception, and she saw that he’d already cut a careful incision all the way round the top of the box.
‘Ready?’
She didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘Aye,’ said Chips. This was it. Watch me.
Matt carefully worked the scalpel round the remaining section of the top, disturbing as little of the material as possible. Behind her the SOCOs gathered. Waiting. She was glad her face was covered. Matt placed the scalpel down and with two hands he slowly lifted off the top. Nasreen caught sight of a weft of blonde hair and felt the floor give under her. Nightmares reared up from the box.
‘Fucking hell,’ Chips said.
‘What is it?’ someone asked from behind.
Matt had put his hand in and gently lifted out a ponytail of blonde hair, roughly shorn at the top, and still held in place by the pink band Nasreen recognised from the video of Lottie.
‘He cut her hair off?’ Chips sounded aghast. Angry.
She forced herself forwards and steeled herself to look into the box. Inside was a photo, printed from a normal printer on regular A4 paper – a grainy colour shot of Lottie’s hair being held aloft like a trophy. In the background she could see the girl, tears streaming down her face. ‘She’s still alive.’ She held it up to Chips. ‘There’s still time. We can still find her.’