Watch Me. Angela Clarke
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?