‘Well, we’ve been communicating with him.’ Famie, in spite of herself, paused apologetically. ‘Through the personal ads in the Daily Telegraph.’ Hunter’s raised eyebrows told Famie everything she needed to know. She rapidly explained the sequence of notes and messages, then produced today’s post. ‘And then this came.’ She handed the hospital card and covering note to Hunter. ‘The words around the edge are a song by Blind Lemon Jefferson. That was the clue. The words in the boxes were written in lemon juice. We heated the card.’
Hunter waited for more.
‘It’s a type of invisible ink.’
Hunter’s eyebrows were working hard. ‘I’m aware of that fact,’ she said. ‘Every kid knows that.’
Sophie handed Famie her phone.
‘This is Hari Roy. I think he’s in trouble. I think he’s caught up in something and he wants help. Who knows why he’s picked on me but this is a credible warning about a terror attack. We thought you should know.’
Hunter studied the image. ‘Credible?’ she said, her tone flat. ‘Why do you think it’s credible?’
Famie felt her neck redden. ‘DC Hunter, we are all journalists at IPS. We report stories every day. We sift, analyse and judge. It’s what we do. We don’t know what’s going on here but, in our consideration, this is worthy of your attention.’
‘Would IPS report this?’ Hunter asked.
‘IPS would investigate it,’ said Sophie. She leant into the table, placed both hands palm down. ‘You’ve got a name, you’ve got an address, you’ve got a warning. Why wouldn’t you take this seriously?’
Hunter considered that, then nodded. She wrote on her pad. ‘Ms Madden. This is, as you know, a huge police operation. It’s the largest I’ve seen. Bigger than 7/7. Its scope is huge. It’s multi-force and it’s international. Everyone involved has an opinion about who was responsible and who we should be targeting.’ She took a breath. ‘I’ve heard many different theories. But there are two things we all agree on. The first is that the e-fits are next to useless and that our gang knew how to hide from the CCTV. The second is that this was a sophisticated attack by a sophisticated terror group.’ She looked from Famie, to Sam, to Sophie, then back to Famie. ‘And so therefore not someone called Hari who writes in lemon juice.’
Famie made to speak but Hunter raised her hand.
‘And actually I have another point, since you’re here.’
Famie braced herself.
Hunter looked to the ceiling, as though searching for words. ‘What would you say to those who might criticize your work? That you have, in the past, after a terrorist attack, not pursued the most reliable of sources?’
Famie felt Sam’s restraining hand. She brushed it away. ‘What would I say, DC Hunter? Christ, really?’ Famie forced herself to stay calm. Held her hands together, palm to palm, against her chin. Took a deep breath. ‘In any big organization, DC Hunter, you find feuds. Rivalries. Jealousies. This place must be the same. You might loathe DC Milne, for example. His superiors might find him an insufferable prick.’ She looked at Hunter for affirmation, got nothing back. ‘IPS is the same. No difference. It’s the professional and the personal. You’ve obviously been speaking to Jane Hilton, who has hated me, undermined me, since Pakistan. She was wrong then and she’s wrong now. A bitch then and a bitch now.’ She stared at Hunter. ‘That’s it really.’
The DC waited for more. ‘I see,’ she said, when there was silence.
Sam leant forward. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Famie might have followed a more … idiosyncratic path than Jane Hilton. But in Pakistan? You should know that she was right. Her reporting was impeccable.’
‘I see,’ Hunter said again, clearly uncertain. She checked her notes.
‘So,’ said Famie. ‘Boxer Street.’
‘Very well,’ said Hunter. ‘I’ll make some enquiries.’
‘Which means what?’ Sam asked.
‘Which means, Mr Carter, that I’ll make some enquiries.’ She put her pen down and looked up at Sam. ‘OK with you?’
‘My God, you people are insufferable,’ said Sam. ‘We didn’t need to come here, as you know, we just thought you’d be interested in a potential terror attack, that’s all. Well, trust me, DC Hunter, this feels like a story to us and we shall be investigating it accordingly. We shan’t mention you by name, obviously.’
He made to get up.
‘Was that a threat, Mr Carter?’ Hunter’s voice was still flat.
‘If doing my job is a threat—’
The DC raised her hands. ‘OK, point taken,’ she said. ‘I could have put that better. We’ll look at twenty-six Boxer Street, we’ll look at Hari Roy.’ She glanced back at Sam. ‘I’ll get on to the West Midlands force. But you must understand this. When there are COBRA meetings happening, intelligence briefings and international coordinated police operations, we’re right at the fringes here.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe. But Hari could be in an extremely dangerous position, if what he’s told us is right—’
‘I do believe you’re telling us how to do our job, Mr Carter,’ said Hunter, interrupting.
Sam paused. The briefest of nods. ‘I do believe I was. Apologies. But just “looking at Hari Roy” hardly sounds very urgent.’
‘Communicating via the ads in the Telegraph doesn’t sound that urgent either,’ said Hunter.
‘Unless it’s the only safe way you have,’ suggested Famie.
Hunter drew a line across her pad. ‘Agreed. Give me a moment.’ She left the room, closing the door behind her.
Famie, Sophie and Sam stared at each other.
‘Do you think she’s actually requesting a check on Boxer Street?’ said Sam.
‘Or having a piss,’ said Famie. ‘One of the two.’
Sam glanced in the direction of Sophie’s bag. ‘Laptop,’ he said. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘No plan,’ said Sophie.
Sam began to protest, Famie put her hand on top of his.
‘And no lectures, Sam.’
‘It wasn’t going to be a lecture,’ he protested. ‘Just a reminder of—’
‘And no reminders either. No advice. Nothing.’
Sam sat back, beaten.
Hunter bustled back in, resumed her seat. ‘I’ve passed on your information, thank you. I’ve spoken to a colleague in the West Midlands force. So. There was something else you wanted to say. The note wasn’t the reason you asked for a meeting.’
Sam and Famie both turned to look at Sophie.
‘Oh, right. This is my turn,’ she said, fidgeting with a twisted leather bracelet. ‘I don’t think it’s a big deal or anything but I also went out with Seth Hussain. And during that time I met Amal.’
Now she had the DC’s attention. Hunter sat bolt upright.
‘You met Amal Hussain?’ she said, incredulous. ‘How many times?’
‘Five. I think.’
‘Wait here.’
Hunter was gone again. She left the door open.