that, but Freddie wouldn’t be looking at recovering and investigating material from devices we find. She’s a digital native, able to recognise things we might miss. She knows the Apollyon case. Aside from DCI Moast and his team, she’s the one person I’d trust to spot patterns.’ If she could just get him to understand how important it was to get Freddie on board.
Chips peered at the notes and sucked air through his teeth. ‘It’s not him is it – the Hashtag Murderer? Apollyon? Doing these?’
The thought was terrifying, but she’d had to consider it. ‘I spoke to the assistant chief at his prison. He’s in solitary after stabbing a fellow prisoner in the eye with a sharpened pencil.’
‘Nice lad.’ Chips rubbed his temple.
‘He’s got no internet access and refuses visitors. The assistant chief was adamant there’s no way he could have written this, sent it, or shared it with the outside world.’ Despite that there was still doubt in her mind; she knew what the Hashtag Murderer was capable of. But the evidence didn’t point to him, not directly. ‘If it’s not him then someone else is using his moniker. Freddie could just take a look – that’s all I’m asking.’
‘You came to me because you know Saunders won’t agree to some consultant being brought in to a case that involves the guv. Because you think I’m a soft touch?’
Crap. ‘I don’t think that, sir. I have the utmost respect for you. You’re a legend in the force.’ She felt her face blush.
‘You mean I’m old, lass?’ Chips chuckled.
‘No, not that. You’re not old. I …’ The chance of getting Freddie’s help was slipping through her fingers. She couldn’t tell any of the team she was the link between the two victims. Not until she knew it wasn’t some ghastly coincidence. But she could tell Freddie. Freddie could help. ‘I just want to find Lottie. Safe.’
‘We’re already treading a fine line, lass, having Burgone stay. Saunders is jumpy. He likes doing things by the book.’ He paused. ‘Then again, I thought you did too.’
Her face coloured again. ‘I do. I really believe Freddie could help. I’m not asking for her to be brought onto the team. I can show her the intelligence on the notes, see what she makes of it. If this is a copycat, then it’s a copycat of a serial killer.’
His face clouded. ‘Then this might just be the start.’
The threat hung in the air between them.
‘Okay,’ he relented. ‘She can look at what we’ve got, but it’s got to be off record: there’s no budget for this. She can’t be expecting money.’
‘Not a problem.’ She hoped. Freddie may come off rough round the edges, but she had a big heart.
‘This stays between you and me. No mention to Saunders, no mention to the guv, okay?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She reasoned she was merely protecting her source: Freddie.
‘I don’t want any difficult questions from the CPS. Got it?’
She nodded.
‘If we were talking about anyone other than Jack’s sister I wouldn’t be authorising this.’ Chips thrust the notes back her. His face was closed, stern. He was angry she’d put him in this position.
‘If it was anyone other than the guv’s sister, I wouldn’t be asking.’ That was the truth. If Nasreen was the link between the two girls then one person was already dead because of her. She had to follow this lead, no matter where it led. Saunders and Burgone couldn’t find out about Freddie. Saunders was itching to find fault with her. If he knew about Freddie he might start digging, and then how long would it be before he uncovered that she, Freddie and Gemma had all gone to school together? That they had been the best of friends. That Freddie and she had nearly driven Gemma to her death. She had no doubt he’d use that to leverage her out. It had to stay a secret for her own safety too.
Chips looked at his watch. ‘You’ve got three hours. Max. Make it count, Cudmore.’ Three hours to speak to Freddie. Three hours to interview Chloe’s friends. Three hours to work out if she really was the link. Three hours to work out if she was to blame for Lottie’s predicament. She could hear Chips’s watch ticking as she hurried away. This is it. No room for error. 10.55 a.m. T – 22 hours 25 minutes. Make it count.
11:45
T – 21 hrs 45 mins
Freddie Venton stared at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. A hairpin crack ran from the top of the rose-patterned wallpaper (her mum’s choice) and slithered across the ceiling. Mum had been at the doctors for her blood pressure, she was going into the school late today. Freddie could hear the sound of her work pumps moving across the hallway. She shut her eyes and slowed her breathing, like she used to when she was young, reading late under the covers.
‘Love?’ her mum whispered. ‘Are you awake?’
Yes, I’m awake! I’ve been awake since blood poured into my eyes. Since sleeping meant the dreams came. And they couldn’t come. She couldn’t relive it. She couldn’t sleep. So she pretended. Her mum had enough on her plate with her dad’s antics; she didn’t need any more worry.
There was a rattle as her mum put a tray down, not wanting to intrude, but not wanting her daughter to starve either. Freddie could sense her standing there. A broken husband and a broken child – life had not been kind to Mrs Venton. ‘Happy birthday, love,’ she whispered, pulling the door gently to.
Not long now. Freddie heard the gruff grunt of her father, his articulation lost to the alcohol.
‘Do you think we should try the doctor again?’ her mum stage-whispered.
Another grunt.
‘It’s been weeks. She’s barely eating. She hasn’t said more than a few words.’ Freddie heard the worry in her mum’s voice. She wanted to tell her it was all going to be all right. But she couldn’t. Instead, she began to count the roses on the wall again. ‘This can’t go on,’ her mum was saying. Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one …
The front door opened and closed, and Freddie heard her mum’s Corsa start. She listened for the jingle of the keys. A whistle for the dog. The door opened – Dad was leaving for the pub. She waited in case he’d forgotten anything. One minute, two minutes, three minutes … Then she threw the duvet off, shuffling across to the tray. Sandwiches. Marmite and cucumber: her favourite when she was little. There were a couple of cards tucked under a present. Freddie picked up the small weighty rectangle, the wrapping paper covered in birds, and read the tag:
Thought I’d get this fixed for you.
Happy Birthday, love Mum and Dad xxx
She
