felt her face colour. Was he testing her? So much for trying to rehydrate. Chips didn’t look up. ‘I’m fine. Sir.’
‘Fine isn’t good enough,’ Saunders snapped, whirling his chair round to face his desk. ‘We have a reputation of being the best of the force, and I’m not having you dent that on my watch, Cudmore. Pick it up.’
A wave of disbelief passed over her – did he expect her to ask for permission to go to the bathroom?
Without turning around, Saunders barked. ‘Get on with it then!’
Nasreen let the door swing shut behind her. How dare he talk to her like that? They’d all hit the ground running on this one. The superintendent had authorised ten floaters: four here at the office, six out in Greenwich. No questions asked when it was one of your own. Officers from Greenwich West were questioning Bea and Lottie’s other flatmates. Tracking down her other friends, shaking students from their beds, from others’ beds. The thought she wasn’t doing everything she could to help Burgone made her feel sick. Burgone wouldn’t think that, would he? That was just Saunders posturing, surely?
There were two floaters ahead of her in the hallway, and with a sinking feeling she recognised the hunched shape of DC Morris. She’d met him on her first day here and found him to be odious. Rather than doing his actual job, he preferred to use his time collecting leverage, real or fabricated, on nominals and colleagues. He was a terrible choice for this investigation, but needs must and one more person, even one as insidious as Morris, was better than none. Walking beside him, her ginger hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, was DC Jan Green. Nasreen knew little about Green, except that she was sorry the pale, freckled woman had got landed with Morris.
‘I bet you it’s a wind up.’ Morris’s voice was a low rumble that threatened to break into a laugh. ‘A spoilt brat who’s not getting enough attention – you know the family’s minted, right?’
‘I hope the guv doesn’t overhear you discussing his sister,’ Nasreen said. They jumped and turned to face her.
DC Green’s eyes were wide, and up close Nasreen could see they were a pretty almond shape. The constable recovered quickly, tucking her hands behind her, standing to attention. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’
Morris, a good ten years older than Nasreen, remained slouched. ‘It’s no secret Little Lord Fauntleroy was born with a silver spoon.’
Nasreen glared at him. ‘I wouldn’t keep DI Saunders waiting. You don’t want to get landed with the CCTV tapes.’ This was everyone’s least favourite job, and Nasreen knew Saunders disliked Morris’s whiney demeanour.
‘Must be nice to just open your legs when you want to skip all the work, hey, Cudmore?’ Morris opened and closed two fingers in front of her, his face a mix of lechery and disgust.
Nasreen knew she wasn’t unreasonable to look at. It was why she tied her long hair back at work. Glancing at DC Green’s boxy tan trouser suit, she wondered if she too opted to dress androgynously for efficacy. Could Morris have seen her and Burgone last night? No, he would have been more graphic. She kept her voice quiet, edging it with threat. She’d learned that from Saunders. ‘We have a missing eighteen-year-old girl. Get your mind out of the gutter, your finger out your arse and get on with your job, Constable.’ DC Green dipped her chin, but Nasreen caught the smirk. Morris’s eyes were full of hate. ‘Get on with it!’
It wasn’t like Nasreen to pull rank, but Saunders had got to her. If she needed to prove her commitment to this case then she would. The nearest ladies’ was two floors below, so she chose the stairs over the lift to get her thoughts straight.
In the bathroom she looked in the mirror for signs she’d given anything away. Apart from the shadows of the late night under her eyes, she looked normal. Alone for the first time since she’d arrived at work, she let her face fall, and the strain of holding it up hit her. The Morrises of the world didn’t normally rile her. There’d be time to get her head straight later – possibly a lot of time, if Burgone let her go from Gremlin – but for now she had a job to do.
The door to the ladies’ opened behind her. She straightened, brushing at a stray hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Lorna, the younger of the two receptionists, walked in. Her brunette hair was curled back into a sophisticated chignon and held in place with a lavender butterfly grip that somehow managed to look both naive and winsome. A new hire, and at the tender age of nineteen, Lorna’s recent arrival on the staff had caused mass hysteria among Nasreen’s male colleagues. There’d almost been a fight over who would get to buy her a pink Prosecco first when she’d come to the pub. The girl dipped her delicate pointed chin to her pastel V-neck sweater. Nasreen couldn’t imagine wearing such girly clothes to work. But then she couldn’t imagine mouse-like Lorna being trained in hand-to-hand combat. They may work in the same building, but they had very different jobs.
‘I didn’t realise anyone was in here.’ Lorna sounded petrified.
She smiled hello, feeling guilty for her ungenerous thoughts. The girl was hovering, fiddling with an ornate ring, as if she were plucking up the courage to say something.
‘You okay?’ Nasreen asked.
A pale pink blush rose on her cheeks. ‘I just wondered if there was any news on DCI Burgone’s sister?’ Bad news travelled fast. ‘He’s such a lovely man.’
Nasreen felt a stab of jealousy, though she knew she was being ridiculous. Burgone had been nothing but his usual charming self to the receptionist. And, to give them their due, neither Saunders nor Chips had said anything inappropriate about her, or to her, as far as she knew either. They may have their reservations about Nasreen’s suitability for the team, but they weren’t based on her gender. Which was some comfort, she supposed. The girl was still twisting her ring. She didn’t want to worry her. ‘We’re pursuing a number of enquiries, Lorna.’
‘If anyone can find her you can, Sergeant.’ Lorna bit her lip.
Nasreen was taken aback; she’d hardly spoken to the girl before. It must be the Burgone effect: Jack the Lad strikes again. She was simply caught in his reflected glory. ‘We’re a good team.’ She thought of Chips and Saunders’s varying degrees of hostility towards her. Well, they could be. Had to be.
Back in the office, Burgone was at a desk in the corner, typing as if he could force answers from the rattling keyboard. She looked away before anyone caught her staring at him. Saunders was on the phone. DC Green had settled at a desk to the right and was shifting through files; she gave Nasreen a weak smile. Nasreen paused by Chips, who was pinning a smiling photo of Lottie to the incident board.
‘Dani, the other flatmate, confirmed Lottie was wearing this gym kit when she went out this morning.’ He tapped the picture.
Lottie was in a matching set of Aztec-patterned pink and purple leggings and bra top, with a coordinating hoodie over the top. On the right breast of the jumper were the initials LB. Nasreen recognised the costly brand as one she lusted after herself, waiting until items went into the sale before she could afford to buy them. ‘Was it a freebie?’
‘Yup. Hence the lass has a photo of it on her site. Handy for our door to door.’
You couldn’t ask for more than a recent photo of a missing person wearing what they’d last been seen in. Lottie documented her whole life online. It wouldn’t take much for someone to work out her routines.
Nasreen
