Angela Clarke - Trust Me

The camera judders. Lurches up. ‘Hey?’ calls the voice from behind. Unsure. Young, she’s convinced now.

‘Skank!’ The man roars, grabbing a bottle. A glass bottle. He smashes it down at the girl. Her face. Her hands. Frenzied. Slashing. There’s screaming. Blood. The camera convulses. The boy’s voice grows frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying.

The man swipes toward the camera. ‘Turn that off!’ She sees his blood-splattered face. And the video feed goes dead.

Kate pushes away from her dining table, away from the computer. She stumbles, grabs the doorframe. Vomits. Liquid smacks the vinyl kitchen floor. Again. Again. She’s shaking. Cold. Bile. Retching. Then she drags herself, shuddering, teeth chattering, to her phone. Pulls it down to her. Dials 999.

‘Hello, emergency service operator, which service do you require? Fire, police or ambulance?’ It’s a woman; she sounds calm.

Kate’s voice bubbles from her throat, as if someone is speaking through her. She forces the words out. ‘Police. You’ve got to get to her. She said no. Someone needs to get there. You’ve got to…’

‘Where are you calling from, ma’am? What is the nature of your emergency?’

Kate blinks as if her own eyelids are heavy, weighted with blood.

‘I’ve just seen a young woman raped – stabbed. There’s a lot of blood. Please: you’ve got to help her!’

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.

‘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?’