Trust Me - Angela Clarke

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of figuring stuff out? For all they knew, Moast had relevant information. ‘I’d rather stay out here with the bins, to be honest.’

      ‘Venton, Venton, Venton,’ Moast said, opening her door and standing back. ‘Don’t be like that.’ She sighed and swung her legs out. Timing, as ever, was not Moast’s strong point. ‘Besides –’ he grabbed her arm and put his face right up against her ear ‘– now you officially work for the Met I’m your superior. You’ve got to do what I say.’

      ‘Get off.’ She shook her arm free.

      Nas slammed the car door behind them. Moast turned and grinned at her with his marble tombstone teeth. ‘And if it isn’t the Met’s finest rising star. Hope you tell all the adoring top brass that it was me who taught you everything you know, Cudmore.’

      Moast had clearly not heard about Nas’s slip-up a few months back. Nas walked over and held her hand out. ‘Good to see you, sir. How are you?’

      ‘Same shit, different day, Cudmore,’ he said, aggressively pumping her hand. Still a posturing asshole. This afternoon was going to be torturous. ‘You just dropping your kid off at nursery, or have you come to learn something they can’t teach you over at Special Ops?’

      ‘I’ve come to pick your brains, if you’ve got five minutes? It’s regarding a stop-and-search you and Tibbsy carried out last June.’ Nas had her game face on: sucking up.

      ‘Sure thing. We’ll get Venton here to make us all a nice drink and we’ll have a chat,’ he said as they walked towards the propped-open fire exit of the station.

      ‘I’m not a sodding barista,’ Freddie said. She wanted to know why Nas had looked so freaked out.

      ‘Ah, yes, but you were.’ Moast stood back to let Nas enter the building before him. Then he stopped, turning to block her way. ‘And you always will be to me.’

       Great.

      ‘You nearly cost me my job back then,’ he said menacingly.

      ‘And your management of the case nearly lost me my life.’ She pointed at the scar on her forehead: the permanent chewed reminder of just how badly he’d screwed up on the Apollyon case.

      He laughed. ‘I’d watch your mouth if I were you. You’ve got to pass this afternoon’s session to get your new job, and guess who gives the marks?’

      ‘Father Christmas?’

      He tutted and shook his head. ‘Still not learnt any respect, I see, Freddie.’

      ‘Guv?’ a voice from behind them called. She turned to see the rangy frame of Tibbsy lumbering through the car park carrying an M&S sandwich. Maybe she and Nas could lose these guys and talk in the Ladies?

      Moast swung an arm over her shoulder. ‘Look what the gods have gifted us, Tibbs. We’re going to have some fun this afternoon!’

      Who was the guy calling himself Corey Banks, and why had Nas looked so scared when she’d seen his photo? As they trooped inside, sweat prickled on Freddie’s brow. Ignoring the chatter around her, she focused on the hard, sharp question that was cutting through the noise: and what did that mean for Amber?

       Nasreen

      ‘I don’t want to keep you,’ Nasreen said. Tibbsy had joined Moast and Freddie in the Jubilee’s polystyrene-ceiling-tiled hallway. She needed to get back to the office and confirm her suspicions about what she’d seen on Amber’s Facebook. This could potentially change the whole direction of their investigation.

      ‘Still sprinting ahead, hey, Nas?’ Tibbsy enveloped her in a hug, pressing her face into his white shirt. She could feel his collar bone against her cheek. He smelt vaguely of shower gel and sun cream. ‘You back to stay?’

      She laughed. It had been such a long time since anyone had seemed so pleased to see her. Again she wondered if she’d made a mistake in leaving. Tibbsy was a good partner.

      ‘’Fraid not. This is a flying visit. Wanted to ask you and the guv about a stop-and-search you did last June. Paul Robertson – the Rodriguezes’ drug runner?’

      ‘Ha! I remember that.’ Moast signalled for them to duck into his office.

      Tibbsy’s face had flushed pink. ‘Not my finest hour.’

      ‘Why’s that then?’ Freddie asked, as they squeezed into the room. The plant in the corner had died since she’d left. Nasreen wondered if anyone else had watered it. Or even noticed the brown leaves.

      ‘Bit of a cock-up, wasn’t it, Tibbs?’ Moast grinned.

      ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know who he was, did I?’ Tibbsy rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and looked at the floor.

      ‘He got a right royal bollocking from the Drugs lads: they had surveillance on Robertson, when this lunk walked right up and started asking questions. I’d only popped into the office to get some gum. Can’t leave him unattended: he’s like a bloody big kid.’

      ‘Why did you talk to him if you didn’t know who he was?’ Nasreen said. Freddie was stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest. It wasn’t like her to sit on the sidelines.

      Tibbsy glanced up quickly before looking back down at his shoes. ‘He just seemed like trouble.’

      ‘Don’t give me that,’ Moast said. ‘He was doing his whole knight-in-shining-armour bit.’

      ‘He was shouting at some girl,’ Tibbsy said nervously. ‘I just didn’t like the way he was going off at her.’

      ‘What did she look like?’ Freddie asked.

      Tibbsy shrugged. ‘I dunno.’

      ‘Liar. He only noticed ’cause she was fit,’ Moast said with a laugh. ‘So he wades in with his badge out, breaking up a fight between one of London’s most notorious gangsters and his missus. Lucky he wasn’t packing heat.’

      ‘You know that for sure?’ Nasreen said. There were rumours Paul Robertson had been involved in the fatal shooting of an officer twenty years ago, but nothing had ever been proved.

      ‘He backed right down. Said he was sorry for the fuss,’ Tibbsy said, turning pale. He’d obviously since learnt of Paul’s reputation.

      ‘What colour hair did she have?’ Freddie said.

      Tibbsy shrugged again.

      ‘Long and dark,’ said Moast. ‘She was a right stunner. Shut her mouth as soon as this one walked up to her. You’ve got that effect on women, don’t ya, lad?’ Moast was enjoying Tibbsy’s embarrassment.

      ‘What were they arguing about?’ Nasreen asked.

      ‘How old was she?’ Freddie said.

      ‘I dunno. Young. Twenty. They were just going at each other in the street.’

      ‘She had some balls on her,’ Moast said. ‘Not many people would speak to Robertson like that. I thought I was going to have to radio for backup when I saw Tibbs striding over there. Left my debit card in the shop and everything.’

      ‘What happened?’ said Nasreen. Freddie was frowning, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

      ‘He said he didn’t want no trouble. She said she was fine and we left it at that,’ Moast said. ‘Didn’t really want to push Robertson without backup. And I’d seen his name on intelligence reports: I knew we probably weren’t alone.’

      ‘Did she look like this?’ Freddie held out her phone.

      Moast took it. ‘Yeah – that’s her. You know who she is?’

      Freddie nodded

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