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  The phone at the other end of Nasreen’s call was picked up. A woman – young, breathless, anxious – answered. ‘Lottie?’

  She had been waiting for her call. Lottie wasn’t there. Had this flatmate received the same frightening Snapchat? Nasreen’s stomach fell away. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Nasreen Cudmore. Is Lottie – Charlotte …’ She looked at the DCI; he nodded his affirmation. She tried to keep her face neutral. ‘Is Charlotte Burgone there, please?’

  ‘Has something happened to Lottie?’ The girl sounded panicked.

  ‘Can I ask your name, please, miss?’ She looked straight ahead at her computer, away from the DCI.

  ‘Yes. Sorry. It’s Bea. Beatrice Perkins. I’m Lottie’s friend. Her flatmate.’

  ‘And is Lottie there, Bea?’ Nasreen felt the eyes of the room on her. Chips had paused from typing on his computer.

  ‘No. She’s gone. I mean, she went for a run this morning. But she never came back. I tried her phone but she didn’t answer. And I got this weird Snap. And oh god – have you found her? Is she okay?’ The girl’s words fell over themselves – fast, frantic. Nasreen looked up at DI Saunders and shook her head.

  ‘I’ll get on to the university.’ Saunders picked up his phone.

  ‘Christ.’ The DCI was staring at his mobile. ‘She hasn’t picked up the WhatsApp message yet. It says she hasn’t seen it. But if she’s running then …’

  ‘And at what time did she go for her run, Bea?’ Nasreen noted the times on her pad – the timeline of a missing person.

  ‘Six a.m. She always goes at the same time. She’s a morning person. Dani – our flatmate – she saw her leave. She was up to get to the library early. She’s got coursework due.’ The girl was babbling. They’d need to speak to the other flatmate. ‘Lottie always wakes me when she gets back. She’s always back at seven thirty. Always. But she didn’t come back today. I didn’t realise until after nine. I slept through. I missed my lecture.’

  ‘Does Lottie run alone?’

  ‘Yes. No one else can get up at that time each day. She’s a machine,’ Bea said. ‘I mean in a good way. Oh god. This is awful.’

  ‘Take a deep breath for me, Bea, you’re doing great.’ Nasreen kept her tone even. ‘Does Lottie ever go anywhere else straight from her run? The library? Another friend’s perhaps? A boyfriend’s?’

  ‘No. She comes home to shower. She wouldn’t go anywhere else before that. She likes her hair to be done.’ Bea sounded small, far away. Nasreen wished she could put her arm around the girl.

  ‘And has Lottie been upset about anything lately?’ She knew what she was asking, in front of her boss, in front of Lottie’s brother.

  ‘No! She wouldn’t kill herself! She wouldn’t!’ Bea’s voice wavered and smashed like porcelain on kitchen tiles.

  Even those closest to suicide victims don’t always suspect that anything is wrong. ‘Is there anyone else there with you, Bea? We may need to send an officer to come and speak to you.’

  ‘Dani will be back soon. She should be. Oh god. Lottie wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t.’

  Nasreen looked at her watch. ‘You’re doing great, Bea, just a few more questions. So the last time any of you saw Lottie Burgone was at six o’clock this morning?’ When I was coming home from sleeping with her brother. ‘So she’s not been seen for the last three and a half hours?’ It wasn’t normally a priority at this stage, but Lottie had sent a suicide note. As far as Nasreen knew, DI Saunders and Chips had never met Lottie Burgone, and she certainly hadn’t. Why would she send a suicide note to all their phones? How would she have their numbers? You have 6 seconds to read this and 24 hours to save the girl. Her gut contracted. This sounded more like a ransom note.

  ‘We haven’t seen her since then. I should’ve woken up earlier. I should’ve gone to look for her.’

  Nasreen looked at Chips as he picked up his handset. ‘I’ll get onto the local force,’ he said. ‘Get some eyes on the ground.’ His voice was gruff, focused.

  ‘Bea, I’m going to need a list of all Lottie’s friends, boyfriends, anyone she’s been hanging out with recently. Do you think you can do that?’ Nasreen asked.

  Bea Perkins took a big breath in. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, Bea.’ Chips was now onto the Greenwich force. He gave her a nod. ‘Bea, we’re going to have someone with you very shortly to go through that list. They’ll be in uniform. In the meantime, I’m going to give you my number here and my mobile as well. If you hear from Lottie, or think of anything else before my colleagues get there, call me immediately. Have you got a pen?’ She heard the girl rummaging in the background, imagining the chaos of a student bedroom. This girl shouldn’t be doing anything more than worrying about her classes today. She gave Bea the number.

  ‘I’ve put in a request for some floaters.’ Chips was talking as if it was just another job. As if they weren’t talking about the guv’s sister. ‘We’ll run a cell site check on her phone, see if we can pinpoint where she was when that message was sent.’

  Burgone nodded.

  She wouldn’t interrogate him, but they needed to get as much information as possible. The DCI hadn’t seemed to blink for over a minute. Chips stood awkwardly, unsure whether to offer a pat of comfort to his boss and friend. DI Saunders was on his own phone at the other end of the office, his back turned to them, his voice low, rolling out the plan. Nasreen spoke gently. ‘Is there anywhere else she might go, sir? Friends 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.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday 16 March

  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 her, the navy fabric of his suit pulled taut. He nodded his angular face at the empty cups of water and coffee on her desk. ‘You better not be too hungover to do your job properly, Cudmore.’

  Nasreen 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.’