‘That must be it. Now, what can I get you all to drink?’ Melissa tugged a small notepad from the breast pocket of her navy blazer and took their order, insisting on serving them all personally, despite the queue that stretched from the counter to the door.
‘Something happened,’ Zoe said, when Melissa had delivered their coffees.
‘What do you mean?’ Nick sipped his espresso, wincing when it burned his tongue.
‘I was followed. On Monday morning on my way to work. I thought I was being paranoid, but saw him again that evening – I tripped and he grabbed me before I fell in front of a train.’ Kelly and Nick exchanged a glance. ‘I put it down to coincidence, but then the next day he was there again.’
‘Did he speak to you?’ Kelly said.
Zoe nodded. ‘He asked me out for a drink. I said no, of course. I still thought it might have been coincidence, but it wasn’t, was it? He knew exactly which way I was going; he was waiting for me. He must have got my details from the website.’ She glanced at Kelly and flushed, and Kelly willed her not to say any more. She sneaked a sidelong look at Nick, but there was nothing about his demeanour which suggested he suspected anything.
‘Did this man give you a name?’ Kelly said.
‘Luke Friedland. I could describe him for you, if that would help.’
Kelly reached for her briefcase and found the paperwork she needed. ‘I’d like to take a statement, if that’s okay? I want everything you can remember about this man, including the route you were travelling, and any times you can be certain of.’
‘I’m going to organise a personal attack alarm,’ Nick said. ‘You’ll have it with you at all times, and if anything happens you can press it. It’ll be monitored 24/7 by our control room and they’ll be able to pinpoint your location.’
‘Do you think I’m in danger?’
Kelly looked at Nick, who didn’t hesitate.
‘I think you could be.’
‘You told her.’
It wasn’t a question.
They were heading towards Old Gloucester Road, to the address provided for them by the London Gazette; the address of the person responsible for placing the adverts in the classifieds. Nick was driving, spinning the steering wheel to switch lanes with the dexterity that came from years of practice. Kelly could imagine him in uniform, racing down Oxford Street on blues and twos.
‘Yes.’
She jumped as Nick slammed the heel of his palm against the horn as a cyclist cut across in front of him, bowling through a set of red lights.
‘I specifically said you were not to inform Zoe Walker about the developments in this case. Which bit of that was so hard to understand?’
‘I wasn’t comfortable with that decision.’
‘To hell with whether you’re comfortable, Kelly, it wasn’t your call to make.’ They turned right on to Shaftesbury Avenue, an ambulance screaming past in the opposite direction. ‘We’re dealing with a complex and wide-ranging investigation, with multiple offenders, multiple victims and God knows how many witnesses. There are more important matters than the way Zoe Walker feels.’
‘Not to her,’ Kelly said quietly.
They drove in silence. Gradually Nick stopped gripping the wheel as though it were about to fly off, and the pulse Kelly had seen throbbing in the side of his temple began to subside. She wondered if she’d made her point in such a way that Nick was actually reconsidering his decision to keep Zoe in the dark, or whether he was mulling over how best to take her off the investigation and send her back to BTP.
Instead, he simply changed the subject.
‘How come you joined BTP and not the Met?’ he said, when they were on the A40.
‘They weren’t recruiting, and I wanted to stay in London. I’ve got family close by.’
‘A sister, right?’
‘Yes. My twin.’
‘There are two of you? Heaven help us.’ Nick glanced at her and Kelly grinned, less at the joke itself than the olive branch it represented.
‘How about you? Are you a Londoner?’
‘Born and bred. Although I’m second generation Italian. Mum and Dad are Sicilian; they came over when Mum was pregnant with my older brother, and opened a restaurant in Clerkenwell.’
‘Rampello’s,’ Kelly said, remembering the conversation with Melissa.
‘Di preciso.’
‘Do you speak Italian?’
‘No more than your average tourist, much to Mum’s eternal shame.’ Held at green lights while the driver in front worked out which way to turn, Nick gave two short beeps on the horn. ‘My brothers and I had to work in the restaurant at weekends and after school, and she used to yell instructions at us in Italian. I refused point-blank to answer.’
‘Why?’
‘Stubborn, I guess. Plus I knew even then that one of us would have to take over the restaurant when Mum and Dad retired, and I didn’t want to encourage them. Joining the police was all I ever wanted to do.’
‘Your parents weren’t keen?’
‘They cried at my passing out parade. And not with happiness.’