from home?’ She didn’t even know where Burgone was from. ‘A boyfriend’s? What about your parents’?’
‘Oh god – Mum and Pa.’
Nasreen flinched at the affectionate term. Under normal circumstances, that would have earned a gruff laugh from Chips. It was like seeing something soft and intimate, and Nasreen didn’t want to intrude further than they had to. Burgone seemed to summon strength from inside, his face taking on its usual self-assured expression.
‘Our parents are in the South of France. I’ll call them. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. That I know of. I’ve met some of her uni flatmates – Bea, who was on the telephone to Cudmore, and another, Dani. They’re nice girls. I doubt they’ve had any involvement with the police before. I don’t know about the others she lives with. Before college Lottie was a boarder at Bedales, I think she’s still in touch with some of the girls from there.’ Worry lines fanned out from his eyes. ‘She spends a lot of time on social media, particularly Instagram – she has a number of sponsorship deals.’
‘Sponsorship for what?’ Was Jack’s sister famous? Had he ever even mentioned his family to her? This felt all wrong: she should have been finding out about him casually in a pub over dinner, not during a criminal investigation.
‘Companies, mostly sports ones, I believe. They send her products and pay for her to feature them on the site.’
‘She’s famous?’ asked Chips. Burgone didn’t respond.
Nasreen wanted to know what the DCI’s sister looked like. ‘Which brands?’
‘I’m not sure. My mother will have a list, she helps Lottie do her accounts.’
Saunders was walking casually over, hands in his pockets, as if strolling in the park. Did he know something already? Something from his phone call? Or was he just acting calm, trying not to distract the DCI? Her brain automatically ran through the questions and connections she would draw if they were talking to anyone else. She woke her desktop and searched for Lottie Burgone and Instagram on Google. Chips and Saunders were standing behind her, Saunders’s citrus aftershave enveloping them all. The DCI was pacing.
‘There.’ Chips pointed at the first search result.
Lottie’s account opened on the screen; she was called LottieLondoner. Her profile picture showed the same classic bone structure as her brother, but instead of his short, dark ruffles of hair, Lottie had long blonde tendrils that hung around her tanned face, her cheeks still soft like a child’s. She was thin, and very toned. There were countless photos of her in yoga positions that Nasreen knew, from the odd class she’d taken, took time, dedication and real strength to perfect. She must spend hours exercising. Could someone who’s flooded with endorphins be a credible suicide risk? Lottie’s account was full of taut, tanned skin: acres of it. The scoop of a traps muscle bisected by a bright green vest strap; the slice of a shoulder blade highlighted by a peach racerback; a hewn stomach underscored by tight, pale blue leggings. At no point was Lottie naked or even provocatively dressed, but as she scrolled past photos of her doing handstands, legs split apart, knees bent into right angles, her torso bending backwards, Nasreen felt there was something sexual about them – even if the girl wasn’t conscious of it. It made her uneasy. This job had a way of making you view everything through the cynical eyes of society’s undesirables. There was Lottie on the beach. In the park. In the gym. And a number of photos of food: white plates of brightly coloured fruits; sliced avocados; and Lottie smiling and sipping green juice through a pink straw. Perfection.
‘Athletic lass,’ Chips said.
‘I have those protein shakes.’ Saunders sounded impressed. Burgone hadn’t come to look at his sister’s page.
‘Yeah, but you can’t stand on your head, can you,’ Chips said.
‘I can do the splits,’ he said. It was a ludicrous mental image. He shrugged. ‘I did a lot of gymnastics when I was a kid.’ Subject closed.
Nasreen tried not to smile at the idea of alpha-male Saunders in a leotard. She hadn’t made it to spin class this week, and, she thought guiltily, she’d had cereal for dinner three out of the last four nights. Along the top of the screen were the account’s stats. Lottie had posted 2,253 times. ‘She’s got 24,000 followers?’ Incredible!
‘Has she?’ Burgone smiled to himself, as if he expected no less of her. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Chips was frowning.
She clicked the first image: Lottie in the park, balancing on one leg, the other stretched back and up, like an arabesque. She was laughing, her hair falling forwards in soft waves around her face. It had 340 likes. ‘She has fans,’ she scrolled through the seventy-seven comments:
@Boinggirl Beautiful hair!
@Reasontolive Lottie I love you. I don’t know how you do it! <3 <3 <3 Please follow me back!!!
@CarlyAngel86 You’re such an inspiration. Thank you for sharing the real you.
Why would a girl with a seemingly perfect life kill herself? And why send the suicide note via Snapchat? And why to them? Tell us where you are, Lottie. Tell us how to help you.
Nasreen looked from the sunshine of Lottie’s Instagram account to Burgone. He didn’t meet any of their eyes. She longed to tell him everything was going to be all right. But she didn’t. Training and experience taught you not to make promises you couldn’t keep – not to a victim’s family. And that’s what he was now. No longer the guv. No longer in control. Jack Burgone was on the wrong side of the investigation.
10:15
T – 23 hrs 15 mins
Burgone had gone for some fresh air after calling his parents; they’d heard nothing from their daughter since they’d last spoken to her two days ago. She’d seemed fine. Normal. That word you always watched for. The thought of anything happening to either of Nasreen’s younger sisters physically hurt her. What had it been like to make that call? Chips or Saunders should have spoken to the family, listened for the telltale signs of tension, lies swimming under the surface, but it didn’t seem right. This was the DCI. It was his family. His missing sister.
Superintendent Lewis had told Burgone he was to take a back seat now. Chips and Saunders were managing the investigation.
Nasreen looked at her watch. She had been ignoring her bladder for the last thirty minutes. She didn’t want to leave her desk until they’d located Lottie, but she couldn’t hang on any longer. The hoped-for phone call that stated this was all a terrible mix-up hadn’t come. Grabbing her phone and her handbag she stood up.
‘Where you going, Sergeant?’ Saunders’s voice rang out over the room.
Nasreen stared at him. Are you really doing this? ‘Just popping to the ladies’. If that’s all right?’
He turned his chair so his knees pointed at
