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.