‘Fifteen hundred. And we have a safe word,’ she said, pulling a mobile phone from her leggings. The figure put a hand out and covered the phone.

‘No, no, no, no. I want this as real as possible. Within the realms of fantasy. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.’

‘I have to call.’

‘An extra five hundred. The boss doesn’t have to know.’

‘No way. He finds out, and I don’t get to have a safe word.’

‘Okay. All above board. Two grand. And the safe word is Erika.’

‘Erika?’

‘Yes. Erika.’

The girl looked around and chewed on her lip. ‘Okay,’ she said. She pulled open the door and got into the car. The figure drove off, activating the central locking, telling her this, too, was part of the game.

56

The incident room was rather quiet after the press conference. Officers milled around as the occasional phone rang. An air of expectation needed to be quenched. The few calls that did come through were from the usual time-wasters.

‘Jesus. You’d think that someone would come forward with information,’ said Erika, looking at her watch. ‘I can’t bear this; I’m nipping out for a cigarette.’

She had just reached the steps of the police station when Detective Crane appeared behind her.

‘Boss, you’ll want to take this,’ he said.

‘Who is it?’ asked Erika.

‘We’ve got a young girl on the line who says she’s Barbora Kardosova, Andrea’s long lost best friend,’ said Crane.

Erika hurried back with him to the incident room and took the call.

‘Is this the police officer who was on the television this afternoon?’ asked a young female voice with an Eastern European accent.

‘Yes. This Detective Chief Inspector Erika Foster. Do you have information about George Mitchell?’

‘Yes,’ she said. There was a pause. ‘But I can’t talk on the phone.’

‘I can assure you that anything you say here will be treated confidentially,’ said Erika. She looked down, and saw it was a withheld number. Erika looked over at Crane, who nodded to show he was already working on a trace.

‘I’m sorry, I won’t talk on the phone,’ the girl said, her voice shaking.

‘Okay, that’s okay. Can I meet you?’ asked Erika. ‘It can be anywhere you like.’

Peterson was hastily scribbling on his notepad. He held up a sign, which read: GET HER TO COME IN TO STATION?

‘Are you in London? Would you like to come to the station here at Lewisham Row?’

‘No . . . No, no . . .’ The girl’s voice was now panicky. There was a pause. Erika looked up at Crane, who mouthed that it was a pay-as-you-go phone.

‘Hello, Barbora, are you still there?’

‘Yes. I’m not saying any more over the phone. I need to talk to tell you things. I can meet you tomorrow at eleven am. Here’s the address . . .’

Erika scribbled it down hastily and went to ask more, but the line was dead.

‘It was a pay-as-you-go, boss; no joy,’ said Crane.

‘She sounded really rattled,’ said Erika, replacing the phone.

‘Where does she want to meet?’ asked Peterson. Erika tapped the address into her computer. A picture on Google Maps popped up on screen. It was a vast expanse of green.

‘Norfolk,’ said Erika.

‘Norfolk? What the hell is she doing in Norfolk?’ asked Moss.

Erika’s mobile phone rang. She saw it was Edward. ‘Sorry, I just have to take this. Can you work out a route, and we’ll decide how to proceed when I come back,’ she said, and left the incident room.

The corridor outside was quiet and she answered her phone.

‘So lass, I take it you’re not coming?’ said Edward. Erika saw that it was five past five.

‘I’m so sorry . . . You’re not still waiting there? On the platform?’

‘No, lass. I saw you on the telly this afternoon, and I thought, unless you can fly, you wouldn’t be here at five o’clock.’

Erika thought back. The morning seemed like a million years ago.

‘You did well for that press conference, love,’ said Edward. ‘You made me care about that girl, Andrea. She hasn’t been getting very nice things said about her in the papers, has she?’

‘Thank you. It all happened at once. I was called in this morning, I was about to get on the train to you and . . .’

‘And it all got away from you, eh?’