Page 64 of Between the Lies

Finding proof in such cases wasn’t easy, nor was it safe. Human trafficking involved many people who had little regard for the law, loved money and power, and didn’t have enough humanity to fill even their little toe.

In retrospect, had it been a shock she’d found her colleague murdered and herself a chief suspect for two murders?

Nina scrolled through her notes.

Asylum seekers and refugees had been a major part of her investigation into sham marriages so far. Not as a group who voluntarily opted in to fake marriages but the victims of such unions.

Finally, she found the keyword she’d been searching for: Malcolm and Associates. What had Dickheadson’s crony said about them? That the solicitors had been on the police’s radar.

Back when she’d been investigating, she’d heard rumours. But the evidence hadn’t pointed to Malcolm and Associates. Hell, it hadn’t even danced around the periphery of that firm. Yet when lines of an investigation zigzagged around someone without touching them, it usually meant someone had wiped out the incriminating lines or buried them.

The entire reason Nina had uncovered the human trafficking angle at all had been because of two leads. Both women had told Nina about their friends, who had reached out to Malcolm and Associates for legal help and vanished without a trace a few days later. And going to the police for help hadn’t been an option because their friends had been staying illegally in the UK by participating in fake marriages. Something the law firm had assured them was legal but wasn’t.

And now Nina had uncovered a connection between the human trafficking evidence and the incidents of that night. If Anne worked for the law firm… could she have been in that building to meet with Nina?

Nina hadn’t lied to Dickheadson. She didn’t know who her lead had been – male, female or even if they had an accent. The voice over the phone had sounded urgent but had been heavily modified.

What if Anne had been the caller?

Nina shoved a lock of hair from her face. No, these were just theories. She needed evidence to join the dots, not her own imagination.

Setting her list of Annes in front of her, Nina pulled up the search engine…

A good two hours later, with her head all but ready to roll to the floor, Nina had pruned her list to five Annes. Maybe one of them would be the one she hunted.

Nina’s heart began to thud.

She shifted her focus to search internet groups, online CVs and profiles of other graduates in the university. A small cry of victory slipped out of her mouth when she located Anne No 1. The woman had an impressive CV, only she’d left the boardroom to become a homemaker – and in doing so had lost touch with the industry and her uni pals.

Using Anne No 1, Nina traced multiple people until she hit Anne No 2. And then her luck turned. Fuck!

Nina gritted her teeth. She’d solved tougher cases before but none that were personal, and none that made her want to pull her hair out.

That’s it. She was done breaking her back over Annes 3–5. The best way to find the main ant was to follow the trail of ants behind it.

So Nina returned to Anne No 1: Anne Cranston. Then she reached out to her the old-fashioned way – by email.

CHAPTERTHIRTY

Robert flapped the bin bag until its mouth opened wide enough. Then, with a sweep of his hand, he emptied the heap of empty beer cans and crisp packets into it.

The clattering felt like cold water after a strenuous circuit at the gym.

It had taken Robert two days after Joshua left to snap out of it. He’d indulged in a few more beers, replaying events from his marriage, and then the events from the night he’d spent with Nina. This morning he’d finally reached a conclusion: he’d let both women bulldoze his personality. The worse thing was he was the one to blame. He’d played the role of a chameleon, changing colours to suit whichever woman he was with. He’d turned down job opportunities to keep Anne happy. He’d turned his back on the law to ensure Nina was safe. And he hadn’t even remained true to himself when trying to solve Anne’s murder.

The result: his head was as jumbled as a bunch of cables left unattended. And the first thing he had to do so he could unravel it all was clean up. And do what Joshua had asked him to do: be himself.

In his fifteen years on the force, Robert had favoured his heart over his head. The head made you run around in circles searching for logic; the heart led you straight to the centre of things.

Robert crouched on the floor to pick up a few stray wrappers that had found a home underneath the coffee table. Then he stuck the lime-green packets into the bin bag and turned to check if there were more under the sofa. He thrust his hand beneath it, but instead of a crinkly wrapper he found cloth. Frowning, Robert groped around, hoping to find purchase on the cloth so he could tug it out.

One pull, then another and finally the thing emerged.

‘Shite!’ Robert pushed off the floor and stared at the black canvas backpack. Nina’s.

Somewhere after he and Joshua’s heart-to-heart, Robert had kicked the backpack away and forgotten about it. It was a way to forget the lengths Joshua had gone to help Robert out. Stealing evidence could get you in prison, your warrant card a distant memory.

‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ Robert ran a hand through his hair. He had to get this back to Nina – or to Dickheadson.

---