Trust Me. Angela Clarke
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Trust Me - Angela Clarke страница 13
Название: Trust Me
Автор: Angela Clarke
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Полицейские детективы
isbn: 9780008174651
isbn:
‘That’s all we can do?’ Freddie said.
Nasreen didn’t look at her friend. She didn’t need her guilt-tripping her for this. A teen girl with those stab wounds would have stood out on the regular intelligence reports that were circulated among officers. She didn’t doubt that what the woman had seen was real, but it probably was filmed abroad. It was likely Kate had stumbled onto a particularly nasty element of the sex trade: a trafficked girl who’d been brutalised on camera. She didn’t want to make it worse by telling her that what she’d seen was probably a murder. A snuff movie. She looked at her watch. ‘Freddie, we better get going.’
‘That’s it?’ Kate said.
Nasreen felt sorry for the woman. ‘How have you been since the video? It must have been a very difficult thing to see.’
Kate’s lips thinned. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well, but I’m a tough old girl, really. I’ve had to be in my job.’
Nasreen didn’t doubt it. ‘I can recommend a grief counsellor, if you would like?’
‘I’d prefer to manage this myself.’ Kate gave a small conciliatory smile. ‘The doctor has given me some sleeping pills.’
Nasreen nodded. Good. She was handling this in the best way possible. Reluctantly she stood. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Kate,’ she said, holding out her hand to shake. She wanted to make it better. ‘If I can ever do anything else to help you, perhaps something to do with the school, do let me know.’
Kate clasped her hand. Kept eye contact. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate the time you’ve taken today.’
She felt she’d failed the woman, as they left the café. ‘Ready?’ she asked Freddie, trying to sound upbeat. ‘Moast won’t be impressed if you’re late for this session.’
‘We could at least try Saunders?’ Freddie had a familiar stubborn look on her face.
Saunders already thought Nasreen was a waste of time, she wasn’t going to gift him more ammunition. ‘I can’t.’
‘It’s not right,’ Freddie said. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Life’s not fair,’ Nasreen snapped. God, she sounded like her mother. When did that happen? Six months ago she might have tried harder, but she’d been burned since then. Caring too much didn’t lead you to make the best decisions. She had to be less emotional, more like Saunders. Maybe in a few years, when she’d recovered some ground, when her career was more stable, she could help the Kates of the world. But not now.
Freddie was aggressively chewing her lip, looking at her phone. Nasreen could tell she was disappointed with her. ‘I need a piss.’
‘Right. I’ll meet you in the car park?’ Freddie had to understand Nasreen couldn’t do anything? She had to appreciate the difficult position she was in?
Freddie didn’t reply, simply picked up pace as if she wanted to shake Nasreen off. Nasreen let her go. Turning, she could see Kate, still sat at the table by the window. Her head was bowed, as if in prayer. Her face was drawn, almost pained. A saying Freddie’s gran always used came to her mind: She looked like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting here now. She blinked away the vision of the long-haired girl lying there. Looking at her. Pleading for her help. She’d failed her. No: that couldn’t happen. Did she know anyone else who might help? She wracked her brain: what was the name of PC Scott’s superior? Would he listen? She was sure her cousin Yvonne used to date a cop. Or was he in the army? He was tall, neat, he had that air about him. A man in uniform. Small teeth that grimaced when he smiled. Yvonne could put them in touch. The more Kate thought about it, the more she thought perhaps it was the army he was in. This was hopeless. She could go in person to her local station and try to speak to someone higher up? Freddie’s friend had been polite, but unable to disguise her doubt.
The video had seemed real. Sounded real. But maybe it was staged, an elaborate practical joke? Could it be taken from a film? She’d told Sergeant Cudmore she could describe the face of the man in the film, but could she really? He was fading from her memory. He’d only looked at the camera once. His features were softened in her mind, mixing with those of her students, with other young men she knew. He could have been younger than nineteen, maybe even sixteen. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms. This was infuriating. Why didn’t they believe her? Why didn’t they want to help? She’d seen pity in Sergeant Cudmore’s eyes at one stage. Did they think this was some attention-seeking stunt by a lonely old woman? Come on, Kate, you’re only fifty-six. Not old yet.
Perhaps the wine had played tricks on her mind that night. It had been late. Hot. She hadn’t been sleeping well. Perhaps she should do as they all kept saying: forget about it. Move on. Would someone else have given up by now? But she’d seen that girl suffer. Someone must be looking for her. Her gut twisted at the thought of her own daughter. She’d been an unexpected gift following a tryst at a teaching convention. Her father had been a kind man, funny, warm, and visiting from the States. They’d been in talks about how to make it work. He’d put in for a transfer: a swap with a teacher from a private school over here. Everything had been planned. And then Tegbee had arrived early. She’d felt the pain as she waited on the platform at Hackney Central. The hand of the woman next to her as she pointed. Blood spotting on the floor. Then her waters broke. She was three months early. Tegbee’s father had got the first plane he could, but he didn’t make it in time. Tegbee – Forever – had lived for four hours. The two of them, alone in her hospital room. She would have been at university this year, or maybe planning to go travelling. Her whole life in front of her. What if it had been Tegbee in that video? The thought was unbearable. That was someone’s daughter. Someone’s child.
The phone vibrating in her handbag jolted her back to the present. It was a number she didn’t recognise. She cleared her throat, aware tears were calling to her.
‘Hello, Kate Adiyiah speaking.’
‘Kate, this is Freddie Venton.’
‘Freddie?’ She looked up, confused: she couldn’t have been long back inside the building.
‘I’ve only got a second.’ She heard something that sounded like a flushing toilet in the background. ‘I believe you,’ Freddie said, ‘and I’ve got a plan. You got a pen handy?’
Miranda had been very clear, there were to be no more indiscretions. In return, she’d promised she would try harder. But she’d been quick to forget that. It wasn’t on. There were two people in this marriage, and she wasn’t pulling her weight. She had use of the house in London, though she preferred the estate in Chipping Campden. Her attention was always with the harridans she called friends, attending endless expensive lunches where no one ate anything. СКАЧАТЬ