Trust Me

‘What happened?’ said Nasreen. Freddie was frowning, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

‘He said he didn’t want no trouble. She said she was fine and we left it at that,’ Moast said. ‘Didn’t really want to push Robertson without backup. And I’d seen his name on intelligence reports: I knew we probably weren’t alone.’

‘Did she look like this?’ Freddie held out her phone.

Moast took it. ‘Yeah – that’s her. You know who she is?’

Freddie nodded at Nasreen. ‘Oh, yeah: we know all right. That’s his daughter Amber.’

‘But they’re a different colour!’ Tibbsy said disbelievingly.

Freddie rolled her eyes. ‘So’s Nas’s dad: it’s not like it’s a bloody miracle, you tool.’

Tibbsy blushed again. ‘Sorry,’ he said to her.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Nasreen shook it off. ‘So he was arguing with his daughter in the street twelve days before they both disappeared.’

‘Yeah, and on the same day she posted on her Facebook page that she was feeling down and “everything sucked”,’ Freddie read from her phone. Nasreen was starting to piece together a picture in her mind.

‘That’s his daughter.’ Moast let a whistle out his teeth. ‘She looks like a goer.’

‘She’s fifteen in that photo.’ Freddie minimised the page.

‘No wonder he was doing his nut!’ Moast laughed. Tibbsy made a half-hearted attempt to join in, before a look from Freddie silenced him.

Now Nasreen wanted to get back to the office more than ever. ‘That’s been really helpful.’

‘Has it?’ Freddie sounded surprised.

‘Thanks for your time, sir,’ Nasreen said, holding out her hand for Moast to shake again.

He gripped it and grinned at her, wrapping his other hand over hers. ‘Always a pleasure, Cudmore. Stop by whenever you like. But next time leave Venton in the car, yeah?’

She smiled and nodded, keen to get out of there. If she was right about the man calling himself Corey Banks then this could be explosive. They could have been looking at this all wrong. She was halfway down the corridor back to the car when she heard the slap of Tibbsy’s feet on the linoleum behind her.

‘Hey, Nas,’ he called.

‘Hey, Tibbs – remembered something else?’

‘What?’ His eyebrows knitted briefly together. ‘Oh: no. Sorry. I just wanted to say I was sorry again. For what I said in there. You know me: big mouth – big feet to put in it.’ He looked sheepish.

‘Seriously, forget about it. I have,’ she said.

‘You promise? Because you and me have always been cool, haven’t we?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ she said growing uneasy. Did he want something? Perhaps he was on the lookout to progress from the Jubilee himself?

‘Cool,’ he said. ‘That’s cool then. Brilliant.’ He took a step back, his long arms flapping at his side. Half a wave. ‘Right. I’ll be seeing you then.’

‘Right,’ she said, smiling.

‘Stop by whenever you want.’

‘Okay,’ she said, stepping backwards herself.

‘Okay – so I’ll see you.’

‘Bye,’ she said, sensing this could go on for ages. Tibbsy might want to drag his heels today, but she had things to do. Increasingly pressing things. She glanced at her watch. She could be back at the office in twenty with a bit of luck. Not that it was likely to make a difference now. Not after so long. She could be mistaken, obviously. Could have misread the situation. Briefly she closed her eyes and prayed that that was the case. Because if she was right, if what she suspected were true, then the consequences for Amber could be very bleak indeed.

Kate

That night she’d taken down the box from its shelf. It wasn’t pretty, like she really deserved, but it was waterproof and fireproof. A safe box. A safe place for her to be. She slipped off the chain she wore under her shirt and pushed the small gold key into the padlock. It was silly keeping it locked, really. No one else lived here, no one else would begrudge her this, but she preferred to keep it personal. It was a secret between her and her girl.

Gently she opened the lid. Her senses greedy for it, she reached in, pulled out the small knitted blanket and held it to her nose. She could smell her: her baby. She closed her eyes. She was back in the hospital room again.

So happy and so sad, all at once. Light seemed to pour from Tegbee, her big brown eyes staring up at her. Her eyelashes were so long, and she had a dusting of hair that curled round her scalp like silk. She was the prettiest, most beautiful baby she’d ever seen. And she was hers. She’d made this little miracle. She stroked her full cheeks as the girl blinked. She didn’t even cry. Only grizzled once, but she stopped when Kate started to sing to her. Hush little baby, don’t say a word, mama’s going to buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing, mama’s going to buy you a diamond ring. The doctors must have made a mistake. There couldn’t be anything wrong with a child who was so perfect.

Kate opened her eyes: don’t think of that bit. Don’t think of the pain. Not tonight, not now. Carefully, she laid the blanket on the table. She hadn’t had a drink since the night she’d seen the video, but today was a special occasion. Regardless of everything else going on, she would still celebrate. As if she were here. The bottle was chilling in the fridge, still wrapped in its blue tissue paper from the deli. Only the best for my girl. She opened the cupboard where she kept her best china and took down one of the crystal flutes her sixth formers had presented her with on their graduation.

‘That was the year we lost three boys,’ she said out loud. ‘One to leukaemia, and two to juvenile detention.’ She unfurled the tissue paper and loosened the safety cap of the bottle. ‘But it was also the first year that one of our students made it into Oxford.’ She held the cork, twisting the bottle. ‘His name was Dwayne Haden. You would have liked him.’ The cork popped and a stream of bubbles frothed out of the bottle. She laughed as she caught the fizz in her glass. Then she poured one more and took them both back to the table.

Under the blanket was the onesie Tegbee had worn on that first day. She’d buried her in the christening dress that had belonged to Kate’s mother. They’d had to take Kate’s womb out when Tegbee had arrived; she knew there’d be no more children. She lifted out the photos. Her and her baby smiling. You could she had her father’s eyes. But Tegbee’s lips were from her mum. Sometimes she couldn’t help imagining what she would look like now. She’d be so beautiful. Tall like her dad. Would she love the same books as her? She’d planned on sharing her favourite films with her little girl, curling up on the sofa with her in her arms. Reading to her at night. When she was older they would have spent summers in Ghana and the States; she was going to teach her all about her heritage. The bubbles rose in the glass and popped. Kate lowered her flute and clinked it against the one on the table.

‘Happy nineteenth, baby girl.’

A

Her body is warm, soft. His duvet barely covering her naked ass. Her leg pressed against his, the rhythmic push of her hip. He starts to gasp. Her hand softly works its way down under the covers, down his chest, round his nipple, down his stomach, tracing the line of hair that’s started to grow there. He gulps. Tries to control himself. And then he’s stroking her beautiful face, feels the flesh turn cold and come away in his hands. Chunks of meat fall from her. He tries to push it back, hold her together. He starts as her bone fingers close over his dick. Her beautiful dark eyes fall onto swivelling nerves. Her lips laugh and fall away from her skull, biting into his face, and scurry across his body, hungrily drawing blood. Her flesh peels back and she’s sinew and muscle and then skeleton. He tries to get away, but laughing she mounts him. Pushes him back. She claws at his chest, plunges her fingers into him, grabs his heart. Pulls it out. He can see it beating as she squeezes, and her hip bones snap closed over his cock.

He has screamed himself awake too many times. So he won’t sleep. Nights are the hardest. He sits in the corner, on the floor. The bed is too soft. He tries to count to stay awake. Recites what he knows about the solar system. The solar system was formed 4.6 billion years ago. Tries to keep moving. Paces his room. There are eight planets that orbit the sun. Mum thinks he’s sick. It started off as a lie; maybe it’s not any more. In decreasing order of size the planets in the solar system are Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Earth, Venus, Mars, Mercury. He doesn’t speak to anyone. Shuts his brothers out of his room. You need a degree in engineering, biological science, physical science and mathematics to be an astronaut. You must have 20/20 vision. You must be between 62 and 75 inches tall. His phone beeps. The number is unknown, but he knows who it is. Hands shaking, he opens it.

Blood is thicker than water.

Blood. He keeps his phone by his side all the time. You must have at least 1,000 hours minimum flying time in a jet. Turns his music up to try to block out his breathing. The sounds of her. Headphones don’t work. You must have 20/20 vision. His books are unopened. His laptop closed.

The sun sets again. Light pours through the curtains. You must have 20/20 vision. He watches it shrink down the wall. You must have 20/20 vision. He walks to the window. His mum is on night shift and the flat is quiet. His brothers are sleeping. Fam. Blood. You must have 20/20 vision. He didn’t close his eyes all night. He didn’t go to sleep. It’s dark outside, and in his reflected face he sees hers. Blood. They will be looking for her. You must have 20/20 vision. He has decided. There is only one way out. Only one thing he can do. He watches himself mouth the words:

‘I’m going to kill you.’

Kate

Her eyelids fluttered. Her neck felt stiff. Her wine glass was still in her hand. She must have fallen asleep on her chair. She’d taken a sleeping pill and she probably shouldn’t have had alcohol. She was groggy. Thirsty. She shifted in her seat and then stopped. There was someone else here. Someone in the room with her. Had the man from the film found her? Kate opened her eyes a fraction. It was still dark outside. Night time. It felt cooler. It was the early hours of the morning. Should she pretend to still be asleep? Cry out? Years of teaching had taught her that a strong stance was best: no weakness. She sat up quickly. Her eyes open. ‘Can I help you?’

A tall black woman was standing in the corner of the room. She didn’t flinch or move when Kate spoke. Instead she smiled, her white teeth beautiful in the dark. Something caught at Kate. She didn’t feel scared. She felt calmer than she had for a while. It was the tablets, she told herself. The woman stepped forward into the strip of yellow streetlight that shone through the window. A silver charm bracelet jingled around her wrist. Kate had seen one like that before. Many years ago. She must be hallucinating: the pills.

‘Tegbee?’

When the young woman spoke, her voice was as familiar as her own. The voice she’d carried in her head every day for nineteen years. ‘Hello, mama.’

Kate held her breath, not wanting the mirage to fade.

‘I’ve missed you.’ Tegbee smiled and stepped towards her. Her baby girl. All grown up. Perfect. So perfect. She smiled at her, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Answer your

phone. We need

to talk.

I can explain.

Just pick up.

You can’t

hide from me.

Pick. Up.

Don’t do anything

stupid. Anything

you’d regret.

…

…

…

This isn’t over.

Nasreen

Nasreen felt the familiar pull of tension in her stomach as she neared the office. But it looked like only Chips was in. She’d spent the evening poring over all the files she could find. This was not looking good. At some point she must have fallen asleep; she’d missed a call from Freddie, but it was gone 1am by the time she woke up. Too late to call back.

Chips looked up from the teetering barricade of folders on his desk. ‘You get me one of those, lass?’ A soft puffy finger pointed at the Espress-oh’s bag she was carrying.

‘Skinny mocha it is.’

He beamed. After forty-odd years of drinking black coffee with a dash of milk, Chips had been converted to the sickly drink by Freddie. He was a man of routine, his physical bulk a metaphor of his immovability, and yet within two weeks of working with him Freddie had changed the habit of a lifetime. She had that effect.

‘Is DI Saunders in?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘He’s in a meeting with the boss.’ Chips sipped from his drink. ‘This really is cracking.’

Freddie’s voice carried from the corridor. ‘Hey, Milena, it’s me. Just to say cheers for letting me crash last night. I left the key under the bin outside. Hope the night shift wasn’t balls. Catch ya soon.’ The door to the office opened and Freddie appeared, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. The same cutoffs on as yesterday, but with a shapeless T-shirt. She pointed straight at Nasreen. ‘You and me need to talk. I called you.’

Nasreen replaced the lid on her own reusable coffee cup. ‘I was working on the case.’ She pulled the files she’d had at home from her bag. ‘The guy calling himself Corey Banks on Amber’s page is better known as Alexander Riley, or Lex Riley as he’s known on the street.’ She passed Freddie the printout of Lex she’d made from the Police National Computer.

Freddie read it and blew air out through her lips. ‘He’s a known gang member?’ She dropped her own rucksack behind her.

‘Yes. The Dogberry Boys.’ Just thinking about it made her feel a bit sick. Amber was fifteen when they were talking online. When she described him as her boyfriend.

‘Didn’t Paul Robertson go down for killing one of their members?’ Freddie asked.

‘Yes. They’re rivals.’ She watched the colour drain from Freddie’s face. ‘They’ve been in an escalating turf war for the last few years.’ It didn’t bear thinking about. But they had to.

‘Why’d he change his name?’

‘Presumably because Amber or her father would have recognised it,’ Nasreen said.

‘But he was dating the daughter of one of the Rodriguezes’ head guys… Shit.’ Freddie shook her head in disbelief. ‘So, what, he was trying to get into her life undercover?’

Nasreen nodded. ‘What if we weren’t the first ones to think that Amber was a good way to get to Paul Robertson?’

Freddie sat down heavily. She was staring at the printout in her hand, her face echoing Nasreen’s yesterday when she’d recognised him. A look of shock. Lex Riley’s sneering mugshot leered from the top corner. ‘He made first contact,’ Freddie said. ‘I’ve seen the message on her Facebook page. He approached her.’ It all fitted. ‘He set her up? Catfished her?’

Nasreen’s stomach tightened. A fifteen-year-old child. ‘It looks like it.’

‘We could have this all wrong: she might not be on the run with her dad. You think Lex Riley could’ve got to her?’ Freddie looked at her imploringly.

She wished she could dismiss her fears, but sleeping on it hadn’t helped. Lex Riley wouldn’t waste his time stringing Amber Robertson along for a laugh. He was the cousin of Jay Trap, the head of the family that had dominated the Dogberry Boys for the last two decades. He wasn’t some bit-part player. He’d been implicated in a stabbing on the Dogberry estate. The case had collapsed before it made it to court, when the key witness backed out of testifying. Nasreen had read that the witness’s pet dog had been found skinned outside her house. Alive, just. There’d been a note pinned to the poor animal: your children are next. You didn’t mess with these people. Lex could have only been interested in Amber for one reason: because of her father. This was a gender-flipped honey trap. ‘We need to find out everything we can about Lex Riley. Can you look at any intelligence reports we have on him?’

Freddie nodded. ‘I should get Amber’s telephone records today with a bit of luck – I’ll see if I can trace contact between the two of them.’ Grimacing, she took the papers back to her desk.

What had happened to Amber? Images of a skinned dog formed in Nasreen’s mind. She picked up a cold half-drunk tea someone had abandoned on her desk. Clear desk, clear mind. She was halfway between the office and the staff room when she heard Saunders’s voice behind her.

‘Skiving off already, Cudmore?’

His petty mind games were particularly pathetic when contrasted to her growing fears about Amber. But she didn’t have enough to bring it to his attention yet: it was just a theory. They needed to compile more evidence. She smiled, determined not to let him get to her. ‘Just tidying up.’

‘That’s my mug,’ he said with a grin. ‘Ta for cleaning it for me.’

‘I’m just taking it to the kitchen.’ Being a skivvy for her Inspector wasn’t part of her job description.

‘Won’t take you long to run it under the tap.’ He turned into the office, calling: ‘Make sure you get all the tea stains off. And I’ll have a fresh one while you’re there, Sergeant.’

Blooming cheek! She crossly shook the cup upside down over the sink in the slender kitchen and flicked the kettle on. And yet you’re still doing it, Nasreen? Get a grip. As a small rebellion, she didn’t rinse the cup before she dropped in a fresh bag on top of the cold tea. Saunders was training to swim the channel, and his nutrition plan didn’t allow sugar, so she added three teaspoons. The water boiled like her resentment.

She marched out of the kitchen in a rage, and slammed straight into Burgone. She swerved, trying to save his tailored suit from the hot tea. He jumped backwards.

‘Whoa!’

Boiling liquid sloshed over her thumb. ‘Ow!’ She swapped hands, shook it off and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

‘Are you all right?’ Burgone’s blue eyes looked at her with concern. He stepped towards her and reached for the hand that she was still sucking. Suddenly she felt absurdly sexual, and she let her fingers drop. He caught hold of them and gently turned her hand over in his. Running his piano-player touch lightly over the damaged skin. Every cell in her body felt primed. She daren’t speak. ‘We need to get this under the cold tap.’

She nodded dumbly as he took Saunders’s mug from her and led her to the sink. He turned on the tap, before tenderly holding her hand towards the water. The shock of the cold brought her to her senses.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, shaking him off, wincing as the water splashed onto his shirt, turning the white fabric transparent. It clung to his toned abs. She tried not to stare. ‘Sorry. I’m being stupidly clumsy.’ She tried to laugh.

‘Do we need to get the first-aid box?’ he asked, inspecting the burn. She wished he’d look away. Leave. She was surprised the water didn’t hiss into steam when it touched her skin: she felt hot with shame.

‘No, no, it’s fine. Honestly,’ she said.

He picked up the mug again and gave it a quizzical glance. ‘I thought you only drank herbal tea?’

He remembered! Get a grip, Nasreen. ‘It’s for DI Saunders.’

‘He’s got you making tea for him?’

She panicked. She didn’t want to seem like a grass. Or a whinger. ‘I was going to the kitchen anyway.’ To take back his cup.

His face relaxed into a glorious smile. ‘I’m so pleased you two are starting to bond.’

Was he? Had she been wrong? Did he really care what had happened to her since their one-night stand? ‘I wouldn’t say we’re bonding, exactly. More that he’s acknowledging my existence.’ She was being inappropriate, but Burgone smiled.

‘He’s a good cop, you can learn a lot from him.’

She nodded: Saunders’s record spoke for itself. Though Lex Riley’s potential involvement with Amber might derail her chance to prove herself to him. If Lex Riley had got to Amber – got to Paul – then finding the girl might not lead to Robertson after all.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.