– 22 hrs 45 mins
‘Thanks.’ Nasreen hung up the phone. That decided it then. She didn’t have a choice. She was going to have to take a gamble. For that’s what it was: a roll of the dice. It could go well, or it could go badly. Very badly.
Saunders had his back turned, speaking on the phone, writing notes in his barely legible scrawl. He didn’t trust her. Better to try Chips.
He was sitting at his desk. ‘Sir, can I have a word?’ she asked quietly, the printouts tucked under her arm.
‘Aye, lass.’ He didn’t look up.
‘In private?’
That got his attention. His eyes flicked to Burgone, who was back at his desk. She shook her head: No, it’s not that. We haven’t found a body. Yet.
He nodded, stuck the pen he was using behind his ear, and followed her out of the room.
Chips looked up and down the empty hallway. ‘This private enough?’ He had a way of softening his voice, and tilting his head so he was looking down at her as he talked, some feat given they were the same height. Gently patronising: it was how she imagined he talked to his grandkids.
She nodded. Not sure where to start. How to start. ‘You know I worked on the Hashtag Murderer case?’
‘We all know that, lass.’ A mild look of exasperation spread across his jovial face, as if to say, Now is not the time for an ego stroke, young lady.
Chips wasn’t a career cop interested in office politics, so no point playing games. He was focused on bringing those responsible to justice. Stick to the facts; get to the point. ‘The killer used an alias online,’ said Nasreen. ‘He called himself Apollyon.’
Chips took the biro out from behind his ear and popped the top off. ‘I read the newspapers at the time, and your report when you arrived.’
‘Did you?’ It was a surprise: he’d never shown much interest.
‘I like to know who I’m working with, Nasreen.’
‘Yes, sorry, sir.’ He’d made her feel childish again. Of course he’d want to know what his new colleagues had worked on before. She thrust the printouts forward. ‘Look at this.’
‘The suicide notes?’ His fleshy hands wrapped around them. The skin of his finger had bubbled up around his wedding ring, fusing the smooth gold band into his flesh.
‘The first letter of each of the words of Lottie’s, and the letters at the beginning of each line of Chloe Strofton’s note. They spell …’
‘Apollyon. Well blow me.’ He frowned at pages. ‘Are you thinking there might be a link between this case and the Hashtag Killer case?’
Yes. And it’s me. I’m the link. I’m connected to both these people. ‘It’s possible. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to spell these notes out. Would Chloe and Lottie do that themselves?’
‘So you’re thinking if someone else wrote and sent the note from the other lass’s phone as well, it might not have been suicide after all?’ He flipped between the pages.
‘Exactly. Then whoever did that might be the same person who has Lottie.’
‘But there’s nothing in the file to suggest foul play?’
‘The investigating force had no reason to think it wasn’t suicide,’ said Nasreen. ‘They didn’t have the note at the time.’ Chips blew air through his teeth. Nasreen pushed. ‘If it was your daughter missing, would you follow it up?’ His eyes flew up, angry. She’d gone too far. But if her gut was right, and this person was targeting their team because of Nasreen’s presence in it, then it could have been her younger sister, it could have been Chips’s daughter, it could have been any one of them snatched. ‘I’d like to go back over the Chloe Strofton case, speak to her family, see if there was anyone new in her life, anyone acting suspiciously. The local force won’t have been asking those questions first time round.’ Could she really sit across from Gemma and her parents and look them in the eye while she asked about Chloe? This is your chance to make it better, Nasreen.
‘No. You can’t go upsetting the poor lass’s family and hinting their daughter’s death was suspicious. Not without something more concrete.’
He was right, of course. For a moment she felt relief. Then reality smacked back. Lottie was still missing. ‘But I could speak to the girl’s friends discreetly, those who received the note. The report said she’d recently broken it off with a boyfriend – I could speak to him? I could go to her school? The teachers would count as responsible adults. See if there’s anything there?’
Chips was still looking at the notes, chewing on his cheek. ‘You can go, but make it quick. If there’s nothing in it I want you back here and helping Saunders and me.’
He was trusting her with this. She knew what she had to do, but the thought of threatening this newfound fragile pact snagged the words in her throat. ‘I’m going to need help.’
‘Green can go with you. Take a pool car.’ Chips straightened; the conversation was over.
What did she think of Green? Could she be trusted? Anything was better than having Morris along. You’re doing this for Burgone, remember. ‘I’m going to need more than that, sir. I need a second pair of eyes: someone else who knows the Apollyon case inside out. To bounce ideas off. I’d like to bring in Freddie Venton.’
‘The civilian who worked on the Hashtag case?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘No chance. What about your former DCI?’
‘I’ve spoken to DCI Moast.’ The call had been awkward: silence on the other end as she’d mentioned the word Apollyon. They both had blood-smeared memories of the case; they both felt they could have done things differently. ‘He’s in the middle of a trafficking bust. The Jubilee station is full of people smugglers and refugees. Some were being shipped out for the sex trade, small children being sold into slavery. It sounds like a mess. The soonest he or any of his team would be able to help would be the day after next. If we were lucky.’
‘And according to the message we’ve got twenty-four hours,’ Chips sighed.
‘Twenty-three, now.’ And ticking down. ‘Freddie could help us.’
‘I thought she was brought in as a PR stunt during the Hashtag case?’
‘Freddie knows Apollyon better than anyone. She was the one who cracked the cryptic clues he posted.’ She’d also been the one who’d goaded him into a response. ‘She’s a little unorthodox.’ Rash, confrontational, and prone to erratic behaviour: she’d need to keep a close eye on her. ‘But she has an encyclopaedic knowledge of popular culture.’ Which she’d probably prefer to call Wikipedic. ‘She understands references that are common knowledge online, and could overlay them analytically to the information we have. I think it’s worth at least consulting with her.’
‘She’s too young.’
‘She’s the same age as me.’
Chips’s face suggested that was rather the point. ‘We have
