Melissa responds with deliberate slowness, enjoying my panic. There are lots of people at Leicester Square, and when she finally pulls up another CCTV image I can’t immediately see Katie. But then I spot her, walking alongside the man from the train. My heart races: something isn’t right. Katie is walking at an odd angle, bent to one side. Her head is bowed and although she doesn’t look as though she’s fighting him, everything about her body language tells me she can’t get away. I look closer and realise he is gripping the top of her left arm with his right hand. With his other hand he is gripping her wrist: it is the pressure on this arm pulling her off balance. He must have a weapon. He must be threatening her. Otherwise why isn’t she screaming? Running? Fighting?
I watch Katie walk towards the ticket barriers with this man, her arm pulled awkwardly across the front of his chest. There are two ticket collectors standing by a Tube map, chatting, and I will them to notice something is wrong, but they pay no attention. How can this be happening in broad daylight? Why is no one seeing what I’m seeing?
I can’t take my eyes off the screen.
Surely once Katie and the man reach the barriers he’ll have to let her go? That will be her chance to get away. I know Katie, she’ll be planning it now – working out where to run, which exit to take. I feel a surge of adrenaline. She’ll do it – she’ll get away from him.
But they don’t reach the gates. Instead the man leads her to the left of the concourse, where there is an empty information kiosk and a door marked ‘no entry’. He glances behind, as if to see whether they’re being observed.
And then my blood runs cold as I see him open the door and take Katie inside.
You think I’ve gone too far. Risking the lives of women I’ve never met is bad enough, you think, but this? It’s too much. How could I risk the life of someone I’m supposed to care about?
You need to understand something.
Katie deserves this.
She’s always been the same. Demanding to be the centre of attention; clamouring to be heard, to be noticed, to be loved. Not a thought to how that made others feel.
Always talking; never listening.
So now she’s got her wish.
Centre stage.
Her most important production yet; her most challenging part. The performance to end all performances.
Her final curtain call.
36
‘What phone numbers do we have for Zoe Walker?’ Nick demanded.
Lucinda checked her files. ‘Mobile, work, and home.’
‘Call them all.’
Kelly was already dialling Zoe’s mobile number, shaking her head as it went to voicemail. ‘Zoe, could you please call the Murder Investigation Team as soon as you get this message?’
‘What do we know about the daughter?’ Nick asked.
‘Her name’s Katie,’ Kelly said, desperately trying to recall anything Zoe Walker had mentioned. ‘She wants to be an actress but at the moment she’s doing shifts in a restaurant near Leicester Square – I don’t know which one.’ Kelly tried to remember if Zoe had ever said anything else about her children; she had a son, Kelly knew, and a partner, but they’d never really spoken about anything other than the case.
‘Nick, Zoe Walker isn’t at work today,’ Lucinda said, putting the phone down. ‘Her boss sent her home yesterday; he said she wasn’t able to concentrate on anything but – and I quote – this bloody case. I’ve asked him to tell Zoe to call us if he hears from her first.’
‘Call her at home.’
‘There’s no reply.’
‘There are no other numbers for her on the system?’ Nick had started pacing, in the way he did when he wanted to think faster.
‘Not for Zoe, and nothing for Katie. We’ve got an old mobile number for her son, Justin – he was ASBO’d in 2006 after a shoplifting, and received a caution for possession of class C in 2008. Nothing since then, although we’ve got a dozen stop checks for him.’
‘What did the Telephone Intelligence Unit say?’
‘There’s no phone registered to Katie Walker at their home address. Either she’s on Pay As You Go or she’s got an additional handset on Mum’s account; I’ve asked them to look into it.’
‘Where was the email with Katie Walker’s profile sent from?’ Nick fired the question at Andrew, who seemed unperturbed by the DI’s ferocity.
‘Not Espress Oh!, if that’s what you’re thinking. The IP is different. I’ll need to put in a request.’
‘How long will that take?’ Nick glanced at his watch and didn’t wait for a response. ‘Whatever it takes, it’ll be too long. British Transport Police are on their way to Leicester Square, but there’s no guarantee they’ll get to Katie in time, and in the meantime there’s every chance Zoe’s in real danger.’
‘She’s still not home,’ Lucinda said, putting down the phone, ‘and her mobile’s been switched off.’
‘I want a cell-site trace on her mobile. Find out when her phone was last used and where. Kelly, the second Lucinda gets a location I want officers making on immediate.’
‘On it.’ Kelly moved to sit next to Lucinda, who was already starting the trace. Nick was pacing again, reeling off instructions without pausing for breath. A thought was forming; something someone had said, just a moment ago. Kelly tried to get hold of it but it slipped away in the midst of the growing chaos in the briefing room.
‘Can we get the daughter’s mobile number from Zoe Walker’s billing?’ Nick was saying.