Pop Goes the Weasel

113

Charlie hurried away from the Fairview estate, struggling to keep up with her superior. Harwood was spitting blood, furious that their ‘lead’ had turned out to be a waste of time. They had sped to the estate, with Tactical Support and most of the station’s CID team in tow – all of which was quite a surprise for the sixteen-year-old girl who was hiding out in her mate’s flat, following her clumsy attempt to steal some make-up from Boots. She did look passingly like Angel, but she was far too young and, besides, her long black hair was genuine. Once she and her mate had recovered from the shock, they’d started to get lippy, asking if they always called out guys with guns to pick on young girls – none of which improved Harwood’s mood. In another light, in another world, it would have been funny. But the stakes were too high for that, so Charlie followed behind, her heart in her boots.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’

Charlie snapped out of it to see Harwood gesturing towards Tony, who was chatting to a uniformed officer he was friendly with. Harwood stared at Charlie, her eyes full of suspicion, but for once Charlie was innocent of all charges.

‘No idea.’

They hurried over.

‘You can’t be here,’ Harwood announced without introduction. ‘Whatever you think can be gained by coming down here -’

‘Would you shut the fuck up?’ Tony barked back at her, silencing her instantly. There was something in Tony’s eyes that brooked no argument.

‘Helen knows where Ella is. She’s gone to find her.’

‘What?’

‘She wouldn’t tell me where she was going. Or how she knew where she was. But I think she’s in danger. We’ve got to help her.’

The words poured from him, forced out at speed by his anxiety.

‘How the hell did she know?’

‘She wouldn’t say. I came to the seventh floor to hand in my report and then… She told me not to say anything… but I can’t do that to her.’

‘Get uniform onto it. I want to hear from anyone who’s seen her or her fucking bike. Check the traffic cameras – see if we can trace her route,’ Harwood said, turning to Charlie. ‘Get McAndrew back to the nick. Get her to go through Helen’s write-up. See if there’s anything in there.’

‘What about her phone? If we can triangulate that -’

‘Do it.’

Charlie hared off, Harwood following close behind.

‘What about me? What can I do to help?’ Tony asked.

Harwood paused, then turned:

‘You can go to hell.’