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Freddie (#u3dbcae0d-5619-5ece-aea5-81e84a10a096)
Oh my God. She shook her head. No way was she gonna move in with him. She was only twenty-four. Was he crazy? She had her whole life ahead of her.
‘I think you’ve got the wrong idea.’ Freddie swung her legs over the side of the bed.
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
She’d let him get too comfortable. She’d got too comfortable. ‘This – us, like it’s fun and stuff, but no.’ She thought of her parents’ wedding photo: her mum twenty-four years old in her lacy white dress. Each time her dad smashed the frame during a drunken rage, her mum just replaced it without mentioning it.
‘No?’ He sat up, the duvet falling off his naked body. ‘What have the last few months been then? You’ve stayed the last twelve nights and you’re saying this is just – what? A fling?’ His eyes were wide. Stung.
Shit. She’d let her guard down. She didn’t want to be a jerk. ‘You know I’ve been sofa-surfing for months.’ She grabbed yesterday’s knickers from the floor, turned them inside out. ‘This has just been temporary, while I find new digs.’
‘You’ve been fucking me because it’s convenient?’
It wasn’t like it was all one-sided. ‘You’ve had perks too.’ He was thinking with his dick.
‘Thanks a fucking lot, Freddie!’ His cheeks burned red.
Anger she could deal with. She pulled her bag open. ‘Where’s all my stuff?’
‘I gave you a drawer.’ He pointed at the Ikea set under the telly and Xbox. His bottom lip shook.
‘You gave me a drawer?’ No one has ever made space for you before, Freddie. That must mean something.
‘Don’t you like staying here?’ He reached to brush back the frizzy curtain of hair that had fallen over her face.
Yes. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to get out of there. ‘It’s not that.’
‘You don’t like me then?’ He let his hand fall back against the blue duvet.
‘Course I like you.’ She dived at the drawer. Quicker would be better. Pulled it open, started scooping her stuff into her bag.
‘Then why don’t you stay?’ He was up now, moving toward her. His arms wrapped round her as he kissed along her naked shoulder, her neck. She felt her body give under his touch, as one hand ran over her shoulder, circled her nipple. The air in the room was hot, foetid. August was gradually turning the heat up on London. Smothering them. She would hurt him. Hurt them both. Be strong, Freddie.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I can’t do this.’
His arms dropped. He stepped backwards. She didn’t look. This is for the best.
‘But…’ His voice wavered. ‘I think I’m falling for you.’
She froze.
‘I love you, Freddie,’ he said.
Freddie swept the last of her things into her bag and ran. She clattered out of the flat, pausing at the foot of the communal staircase to pull on her vest and shorts. Her heart was screaming at her to go back. Be strong. She heard him stumbling for his jeans, his keys, calling after her. She bolted out into the street; the sunlight wrapped itself around her in a stifling embrace. Happy bloody Monday.
Nasreen (#u3dbcae0d-5619-5ece-aea5-81e84a10a096)
‘Thanks to Freddie, we’ve got a new lead,’ DI Chips, too old-school to bother with new-fangled office politics, rested two meaty hands on Freddie’s shoulders and gave her a grandfatherly squeeze of pride. Nasreen doubted he’d ever been this fond of an Intelligence Analyst before. In fact, she doubted he’d ever spoken to one before.
Freddie had been recruited to the Gremlin cyber-crime team after consulting on some high-profile cases; she was internet savvy, analytical, unorthodox, outspoken, and Nasreen’s old school friend. And, despite Nasreen’s stellar fast-track performance at Hendon College, and her further three years of experience in the Met, it was Freddie who looked at home here. Chips was beaming at her. ‘Tell us what you’ve got, lass?’
Freddie hiked her ripped denim shorts up as she stood.
‘You could’ve dressed for the occasion,’ DI Saunders straightened his own stiff white shirt cuffs. Not a hair out of place.
‘I have,’ Freddie replied. ‘It’s too bloody hot for anything else.’
Nasreen envied Freddie’s carefree attitude, even if she didn’t approve of it. The newspaper front pages blazed with the incoming heatwave, and she’d had to dry the sweat patches on her own suit under the hand drier this morning.
‘I’ve been looking at intelligence reports of activity we know is linked to the Spice Road website.’ Freddie handed round a series of reports filed by arresting officers across the force. The Spice Road was an Amazon-style website on the dark net where you could order anything at the click of a button. They could see the drugs, weapons, and sometimes people being sold and bought on the site, but couldn’t see who they were coming from or going to. ‘Each of those observed, questioned or charged for delivery of these drugs in these cases belong to the THM,’ Freddie said.
‘Tower Hamlets Massive, the Poplar gang?’ DC Green’s freckled skin was flushed. Despite being the newest member of the team, she’d clocked how big this was.
‘We didn’t know that the THM gang were linked to Spice Road.’ Freddie sounded excited. Perhaps she’d been working on this when she’d blown Green and her partner’s barbecue off at the weekend? Nasreen had been left talking to their gawky accountant neighbour. She had the terrible feeling they’d hoped she would see him again.
‘The highest ranking THM member we’ve come across is a guy called Paul Robertson.’ Saunders put a photo of a white guy, shaven-headed and sunken-eyed, on the wall. ‘Robertson served time for the manslaughter of Rhys Trap, a key member from rival gang the Dogberry Boys. An act we think was a test to prove his loyalty to those who run THM – the brothers Rodriguez.’
Nasreen knew all about the Rodriguez family. ‘The brothers haven’t been seen in public for over five years.’
‘We suspect they’re running the operation from Spain,’ Chips said.
‘Gotta love the Internet,’ Freddie said. ‘You can work from anywhere.’
‘We had a trace on Robertson until a year ago when he vanished,’ Chips said.
‘You think he’s in Spain too?’ Nasreen asked.
‘No sightings and nothing flagged on any of the borders.’ Saunders still wasn’t looking directly at her. She’d been deskbound for the last six months, and could guess she was about to get the worst job. Again.
Saunders took another sip from his morning protein shake. ‘Robertson is wanted in connection with several drug-dealing cases and an armed robbery in Bracknell. The drugs squad had a trail on him when he disappeared.’
‘Someone had a bad day in the office,’ said Chips. They all laughed.
The door opened and DCI Burgone entered. Nasreen’s laughter turned into a cough. She stared at the ground, though she wanted nothing more than to look into his blue eyes. Freddie, Chips and Green were still laughing, but she could feel Saunders watching her.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Burgone’s classic Queen’s English tone instantly restored order. As he was the governing officer, Freddie would have reported her discovery to Burgone before she spoke to Saunders. ‘Carry on, Pete.’ Burgone took the nearest chair, the one next to her. His amber scent beckoned her closer.
Don’t look.Act natural. Closing her eyes, Nasreen was back to that night: her hands in his thick dark hair, his hand cupping her chin, their lips meeting. She snapped her eyes open. It had been six months since she’d had a one-night stand with her boss. Six months since the rest of the team found out. Six months since she’d been lucky to hang on to her job.
Saunders cleared his throat. ‘Paul Robertson is our best shot of getting to the Rodriguez brothers, and ultimately it’s them who are running the Spice Road.’ He paused to pull another photo from his file. ‘Paul Robertson has a daughter, Amber Robertson, who disappeared at the same time as her father.’ A chill passed over Nasreen. Saunders added the photo of a young, dark-haired girl to the board. ‘She was fifteen when they went to ground.’ Amber smiled up from under a fashionable floppy hat, her voluptuous curves played for maximum impact in a cropped khaki T-shirt and tight black jeans. Cases involving teen girls always got under Nasreen’s skin, and she felt the familiar tightness form in her stomach.
‘Pretty lass,’ Chips said.
‘We think she’s the weakest link in the chain. Find her and we find her dad. Find him and we find the Rodriguez brothers.’ Saunders tapped the board. ‘Chips and Green are tied up finishing off Operation Kestrel right now, so I want you on this one, Cudmore.’
His words startled her. ‘Me?’ She leant forward, too eager, caught the glass of water on the table in front of her. Her hand shot out to steady it. She felt the blush rising up her cheeks. Burgone was right there.
‘Unless you’ve got better things to be doing with your time, Sergeant?’ Saunders said.
‘No, sir. Thank you, sir.’ She prayed Burgone was looking at the board.
Green gave her a smile – a congrats for being back in the game.
‘Get Freddie to help you with whatever she can get on Amber. I want her found.’ Saunders was gathering his papers together.
‘Wait, so there’s a missing fifteen-year-old girl – surely someone’s looking for her already?’ Freddie cut over the noise of scraping chairs.
‘She’s been on the Missing Persons list for a year, but they’re inundated.’ Saunders said. ‘They’ve done the normal checks, but until now she wasn’t high priority.’
Freddie blew air through her teeth. ‘Not high priority? But now we want to bang up her dad we’re interested?’
‘Now I’m interested,’ Saunders said.
‘I don’t know how you sleep at night.’ Freddie stared at him.
‘Like a baby, ta.’ He was always pleased to get a response.
Nasreen knew how busy Missing Persons were, and with the connections Paul Robertson had, it’d be all too easy for him and his daughter vanish. ‘What about the girl’s mother?’
‘Died when she was three,’ Saunders said. ‘RTA.’
‘Daughter of a dead mum and a drug-dealing dad, some kids get all the luck, don’t they?’ Freddie grimaced.
‘Freddie, can I have a word – in my office?’ Burgone had paused at the door.
Nasreen couldn’t help but stare as Freddie left the room with him. What was that about?
Nasreen had to stop this fixation with Burgone. Superintendent Prue Lewis’s disciplinary words played over in her mind: ‘I forbid my officers to have relationships with their colleagues because it ruins their careers. Especially the women. People will always assume you got to where you are because of who you slept with, Nasreen. You will have to work twice as hard to prove them wrong now.’ Nasreen couldn’t let her own mistakes stand in the way of doing the job she loved. She had to believe she was still of use. The tension in her stomach solidified into a hard, heavy millstone. The pretty fifteen-year-old Amber Robertson was Nasreen’s shot at redemption, if she could find her.
Freddie (#ulink_37c0eefb-cbc7-5162-9d57-49db3948d326)
Fifteen years old and on the run. It’d make a good film, but it was bleak in real life. Freddie wanted to look into Amber Robertson more; no one else seemed that bothered about the missing girl. She still didn’t get that about police: how could they just compartmentalise all this shit? She opened Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat on her phone. Would a fifteen-year-old really give those up as well as everything else? She herself wouldn’t, and she had nearly ten years on her.
‘I’ve just come from a meeting with the Superintendent,’ Burgone was saying.
She tapped in Amber Robertson and pressed search. A number of profile squares appeared on Facebook. One looked familiar: same girl, same hat. Freddie clicked.
Burgone was still talking and she’d tuned out: ‘And so you can see my problem,’ he finished. His face had a look of concern on it.
Her gut twisted. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
He sighed. ‘I feared you might find it difficult to hear.’ His sharp navy-suited arms rested authoritatively on the table. His face solemn. ‘We’re having to make cutbacks. I’m sorry, Freddie, but I no longer have the budget for a full time Intelligence Analyst.’
What? ‘Is this a wind-up?’ Burgone had offered her this role when she was broke, and she’d been surprised to discover she loved it. Putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Making a difference. She’d found the link between the Spice Road website and the Tower Hamlets Massive. She could find Amber Robertson. And now he was going to take it away from her? Hell, no. ‘You approached me.’
‘And you’ve done a brilliant job,’ he said.
‘Do you know how late I stayed working on that Paul Robertson lead?’ She was up out of her chair now. Throwing an accusatory finger at him. Burgone’s eyebrows had reacted, but he’d kept the rest of him admirably still.
‘I appreciate you’re upset, Freddie.’
She thought of his privilege, his entitlement. What she’d done trying to scrape together enough for a bloody rental deposit. The fallout to the L word this morning. Had that been a mistake? Now was not the time to think about that. Burgone had probably never worried about money in his life. ‘I don’t think you do, mate.’
‘I will always be grateful for what you did for me and my family.’ Burgone looked uncomfortable whenever he mentioned how they first met: a tense investigation involving his sister.
‘I did what anyone would have done,’ she said, cutting him off. Did he really think she would try and hold it over him? ‘I don’t know how you were raised, but I was brought up to help people when they’re in trouble.’ She thought of the embarrassment in her mum’s eyes when she’d found out that her dad had pinched the money she’d been scraping together for Freddie. Gone in an optic. Literally pissed against a wall. The anger fizzled out. Burgone wasn’t the enemy.
‘I haven’t finished yet, Freddie. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and there is a way I can make it work with the budget. But it will require effort on your behalf.’
She slumped back into the chair. ‘I can’t work any more hours.’ The booze had gone months ago: too expensive, too risky. She often wondered what her dad would have been like if he’d been broke as a lad. If rent was as high as it was now. Would he have become an alcoholic sooner, or never succumbed in the first place? ‘Go on then, spill?’
‘I can afford to keep you on part-time as an Intelligence Analyst. But I also have funding for another different part-time role.’
‘That makes no sense,’ she said.
‘It’s down to how funding is allocated.’
‘Bloody government, screwing everything up as usual,’ she said.
Burgone had shifted his attention to a pile of papers on his desk, looking for the right form. ‘I have budget for a Civilian Investigator. They’re designed to relieve pressure on active officers, thus improving police effectiveness: it’s seen as a saving in the overall budget.’
‘What does it involve?’ Investigator sounded promising. She missed being out looking into leads. Not that she should ever have been meeting the public, she thought, smiling to herself, but there’d been special circumstances before.
‘Your role would include interviewing victims of burglary, assault and car crime. The training programme is three weeks long, and will include briefings on interrogation techniques, how to structure an interview, and a number of aspects of the law that are relevant.’ Burgone said. ‘Some of it you’ll know from your analytical training, and, er, previous experience.’ He handed over a printed worksheet. ‘And if I assign you to Detective Sergeant Cudmore for management, we may handle some of the training in-house.’
‘I could go out and interview suspects?’ she said.
‘Perhaps not that.’ He smiled. ‘But certainly supporting statements from witnesses and other interesting parties. If you complete the training and probationary period, as before.’
‘Will I get a business card?’ She’d always wanted one of them. Was jealous of Nas’s when she’d handed them over to people. It made her official. Real. She’d send one to her mum.
‘Well, yes. I guess it will be useful for you to have something with your contact details on to leave with interviewees,’ Burgone said.
‘Okay,’ Freddie said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘There is one more thing: this is a slightly sensitive issue,’ he said.
Ah: the catch. Here it came.
‘This is a fairly new scheme within the force, and not everyone is a fan. Some officers have registered concerns over the limited training and accountability of civilian investigators – this won’t win you any friends, Freddie.’
She shrugged. ‘No worries. I haven’t got any anyway.’
He smiled. ‘Then I’ll make sure DS Cudmore has the relevant training criteria to cover. Hopefully you can run it alongside this Amber Robertson case. And we’ve had a bit of luck: another recruit has had to drop out of an existing training course, so we can get you over there today and get you started.’
‘Cool.’ She’d come back to the office after, to start work on finding Amber: that’d give the phone company time to get the records over.
