1

‘Twat,’ she mutters as she stomps down the corridor. ‘That fucking twat.’

DS Freya West pauses outside a set of double doors, forcing herself to calm down. She takes the last swig of her coffee. Smooths down her shirt. She’d been looking forward to a productive morning. Recently promoted to detective sergeant, Freya had plans. Wrap up last week’s stabbing, send the case across to the CPS in time for the offender’s hearing. Maybe get her hands on something juicy and new – she’d heard there had been an arson across town, persons reported.

But no.

DI Matthew Ratcliffe doorstepped her the moment she arrived at the nick.

‘There’s a woman at the front desk. Says she’s being stalked.’

Freya met his gaze, her stance determined. ‘Wouldn’t we normally deploy a PC in the first instance?’ she challenged.

Ratcliffe sighed, visibly annoyed. ‘I’m not in the mood for your theatrics. Times have changed since you and Butler ran around doing what you liked. I’m your superior officer and I need you to go and speak to this woman. Besides, she asked for you. By name, DS West,’ he finished, then left her with her scowl.

It’s the latest in a long line of shitty jobs well below her rank, but Freya pulls herself together. If this woman’s come in to see her, then she has a job to do. That’s all there is to it. She takes a deep breath and pushes through the door to the front desk.

She doesn’t need to ask who she’s there to see. A woman stands up, eager. Dressed in a smart grey business suit, she grips a posh black Mulberry bag tightly in both hands.

Freya recognises her instantly. ‘Emily?’ she says, confused. She’s older, thinner, but unmistakably the same woman Freya knew from her university days.

Freya greets her with a hug; her shoulders feel frail.

‘I’m sorry to have come, but I heard you were a detective here and I thought…’ Her hands grasp at her bag. ‘I thought it would be easier to talk to you.’

‘Of course. Follow me.’

Freya escorts her through the main double doors into the closest interview room. A nice one – reserved for witnesses and family, rather than the blank boxes in the bowels of the building. Someone’s tried to make an effort with furnishings – a few grubby cushions decorate the scratchy blue chairs. Freya gestures to the most comfortable and sits opposite. Despite the more informal setting, Emily’s nerves don’t appear to abate; she looks like she’s going to cry.

‘Would you like a drink? Tea?’ Freya gestures with her empty travel mug. ‘Coffee?’

‘No, no. I’m fine. I shouldn’t be wasting your time—’

‘Not at all.’ Freya smiles warmly. ‘Tell me why you’re here.’

Freya pulls the MG11 witness statement form out of her folder and waits, pen poised. The woman doesn’t know where to start. She chews her lip, staring down at her hands balled in her lap.

‘What have you been doing since uni?’ Freya asks, trying to put her old friend at ease.

‘I’m a solicitor,’ Emily replies. ‘Family law. At a small firm in the centre of town.’

‘That’s wonderful. Nice that someone got some use out of their degree,’ Freya jokes.

Emily laughs. ‘I remember you were never keen. But you had such a memory for case law.’

‘Only thing that’s useful now.’

‘I bet.’ Emily leans back, her shoulders relaxing slightly. ‘So, there’s this man. I met him online. MeetM8? Have you heard of it?’

‘I haven’t. Sorry. Is it like Tinder or Bumble?’

‘Similar.’ Freya notices Emily glance down to her engagement ring, shining in the overhead spotlights. ‘You’re engaged?’ Emily asks.

‘Yes,’ Freya replies. ‘To another detective.’

‘Congratulations. When’s the wedding?’

‘Oh…’ Freya waves a hand vaguely. ‘We’re in no rush.’ She tries to sound nonchalant, but the reality is that she and Josh have been engaged for over a year and they’re no closer to fixing a date. She’s told herself it’s down to work, other commitments, but it’s starting to become awkward.

‘Well, you wouldn’t know,’ Emily says with a chuckle. ‘But MeetM8’s a new one. My friends said it was better than the others. Not so many dick pics. But still, this happened.’

Emily takes her phone out of her pocket and unlocks the screen. She turns it around to show Freya. On it is a photo. A handsome man – dark hair, warm eyes, big grin. Grant Anderson, it says above.

‘He seemed nice, at first. I sent him a message, we talked. All online. None of the usual crap you get with men on these sites. No pressure to send photos. No innuendo. We just chatted. About what we liked, what we didn’t.’

‘And?’

‘And then he changed. He started asking more and more questions. Personal stuff. I didn’t like it, so I cooled off. That’s when he got weird.’

She selects another screen and hands the phone to Freya, who starts scrolling. She can feel Emily’s gaze, trying to gauge her reaction.

At first the messages are innocuous:

Are you ok? Where have you gone? I hope you’re all right.

Then more desperate, the tone changing.

Why won’t you reply? Where are you? Why are you ignoring me?

‘What happened after this?’

‘I blocked him. I reported him to the app. And that’s when… when…’ Her head dips. ‘I started getting phone calls, late at night, from strange numbers. And when I answered, there was no one there.’

‘How did he get your number?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t share it. But it was definitely him. He sends texts – constantly. Here.’

She points to the phone again. Freya flinches as she reads the messages. Swearing and profanities, swinging wildly to emotional blackmail. Threats that he’ll kill himself unless she replies.

Multiple text messages, the same style of writing. Clearly the same man.

Freya calmly sets the phone down on the tabletop. ‘Did you respond?’

‘I did at the beginning. I told him to leave me alone and blocked him. But he just starts again. With a different number. It’s constant. And he says…’ Her lip wobbles. She’s crying now. ‘He says he’s going to kill me. To rape me.’

‘Have you spoken to the police before today?’

‘I called 101. And she said to keep records, take screenshots of all his texts. Then come in and speak to someone. But it seems silly. I mean, I’ve never met the man. What can you do about it?’

‘We have ways of finding people, Emily,’ Freya replies. ‘And we take this sort of thing seriously. Could you upload the screenshots? I’ll send you a link.’

‘Yes, no problem. But it’s not just this. He found me on Twitter, started sending messages that way. I locked my account, not that it matters. I don’t dare tweet anything now. In case he guesses where I am. The only thing I do is go to the office and come home. But I don’t even want to do that anymore. I’m going to stay at my parents’ house tonight.’

‘That’s good. And has he approached you? Come to your office or home?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Has he contacted anyone you know?’

‘No. Does that matter? You’ll still stop him, right?’

‘I’ll do everything I can.’ Freya gives her a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll take your statement now, formally capture everything that’s been going on. We’ll get this guy. You were right to come and see me.’

Emily nods, a flash of a quick smile. Then the tears come again. ‘I haven’t been out for weeks. I’m too scared. Even though I know what he looks like, I’m terrified of what he might do. He’s destroyed my life,’ she says, openly sobbing now. ‘And I don’t even know who he is.’

---

Freya takes Emily’s full statement over the next few hours – it’s a worrying chain of events. An escalation of harassment; the man bombarding this poor woman with threats and abuse. Emily is terrified. She reiterates to Freya that she’s going to her mum and dad’s, but as Freya notes the address and bids her goodbye, she’s worried.

Freya remembers Emily Rhodes from university. They were on the same degree course – Law – at Southampton, seventeen years ago now. They regularly went on the same nights out, and over three years Freya got to know her well. They’d lost touch since, but Freya remembers her as lively and fun. Always up for a good time. Confident. But the woman who sat before her in that interview room was a shell of her former self. Freya resolves to do all she can to get her life back to normal.

Freya makes her way back up to the office, but the place is deserted when she gets there. It’s strange. At this time, nearly eleven, the Major Crimes team is usually vibrant with chat, catching up on their weekends and cursing the lack of milk for their coffees. She dials Mina – it cuts to voicemail. She can’t still be at that arson? She tries Ratcliffe.

‘Where are you?’ he barks. ‘Are you with that woman?’

‘Yes, just finished. It’s clearly a stalker, boss. And one I’ve got a bad feeling about. Where are you all?’

‘Briefing downstairs. Just confirmed. Don’t you read your texts?’

‘I’ve been busy,’ she says pointedly. ‘I’ll be down in a moment. I need to—’

‘Now, West. Orders from DCI Baker. All officers. It won’t take much of your precious time, I promise. And I’m surprised you’re not here already. Given your history.’

Ratcliffe hangs up and Freya squints at her phone, confused. She dumps her paperwork on her desk, then heads down to the conference room.

When she arrives, she tentatively opens the door. But the briefing hasn’t started yet. She spots her friend and colleague, DC Mina Desai, and squeezes in next to her at the side of the room.

‘You’re here,’ Mina whispers. ‘You took your time.’

‘Stalking case. A friend from uni has got some nasty bloke after her.’ Freya glances to the front, where a group of men are talking, their backs turned. Freya recognises the large bulk of DCI Neal Baker, but he’s blocking the other speaker. ‘What’s so important?’ Freya asks. She looks at her phone again; details are scarce, just stating an emergency briefing.

Mina looks to her with a surprised grin. ‘You don’t know?’ she says. ‘I thought you’d be the first person he called.’

Freya frowns. Why is everyone talking in riddles this morning? But before she can ask, Baker turns to the room and clears his throat. The detectives all hush and Freya finally realises what Ratcliffe and Mina have been on about. Her face flushes with surprise as her eyes rest on the man at the front of the room.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ Baker begins. ‘We’ve had some disturbing developments on a case this morning, one that requires our immediate attention. I’m sure some of you recognise our returning visitor, hauled up at short notice from Devon.’

The man at the front surveys the room, scanning the audience until his eyes settle on Freya. He meets her gaze and smiles tentatively; she can’t help but give a small smile back.

Baker continues. ‘I expect you all to listen closely. Your best behaviour, please, as I now hand you over to Detective Inspector Robin Butler.’

2

Robin Butler clears his throat and pulls his shoulders back, looking out at the detectives he used to work alongside. He seems confident but Freya notices his middle finger tapping a rhythm against his thigh, betraying his true feelings.

‘Thank you for dropping everything at short notice,’ Robin begins. ‘But DCI Baker brought a new case to my attention this morning – one that bears a particular similarity to a series I’ve been working on. I’ll get straight to the point.’

He clicks a button; a projector throws an image onto the screen behind him.

It’s a caravan. Or at least, it was. All that remains is a metal shell, wheels punctuating each corner. The outside has been completely burned away, although Freya can just make out the space where the window and the door would have been. Blackened debris lies around it, the grass it’s standing on is scorched and dry. Robin clicks again – this time it’s a wheelie bin, melted into a slump of molten green plastic.

‘Just a few examples of the fires we’ve noticed springing up across Devon. Seemingly accidental, until we looked closer. All were set late at night, and all had the same accelerant…’

While Freya’s listening, she can’t help but stare at Robin. He looks like the man she knew – the man she was partnered with for nearly two years before he requested a transfer to Devon – but somehow he’s different. He’s wearing a dark grey suit, blue tie. A crisp white shirt. Shoes that actually seem clean. His hair is longer, styled up into a messy peak at the front. And as he turns to the projector, he takes a pair of glasses out of his pocket and puts them on. They’re black, blocky. Kind of fashionable. They suit him.

Robin’s still talking, but Freya’s barely heard a single detail. She forces herself to tune in.

‘…and more were found,’ he’s saying. ‘We analysed the trend. At first, fires were started in abandoned properties – bins, sheds, a caravan – but then we noticed a shift to more residential areas. A pattern that we found worrying, even before this happened.’

He turns, and a photograph fills the screen. A man, smiling, with a bald head and a white beard, standing next to a picturesque lake.

‘Charles Foley. This was him in better times. When he died, he was homeless. Found in what firefighters first assumed was a derelict empty house. Cause of death was hard to determine because of the destructive nature of the fire, but one thing the pathologist could tell us was that he was alive when the flames got to him – he burned to death.’ He pauses, letting them take it all in. Freya notices the sickened expressions in the room. ‘But then everything went quiet. Until today. This. In Southampton.’

Robin clicks another button; a house – if it could still be described as that – fills the screen. It’s a black and broken shell, the roof caved in in places, all windows shattered, debris scattered across what was once a nice garden.

Robin turns and studies it for a second. ‘We always assumed the spate of arsons to be localised to Devon but this house, last night, bears the same characteristics. We’ve had persons reported, but fire investigators haven’t yet found a body. Unfortunately, if neighbours’ statements are to be believed, it’s only a matter of time. Yet another poor sod without a smoke alarm.’

‘Did you know he was coming today?’ Mina whispers to Freya, distracting her.

‘No clue. I haven’t spoken to him since he left.’

‘Not at all?’

‘A bit on WhatsApp, a few photos when the baby was born, but apart from that…’

Freya catches a glare from Ratcliffe and turns back. She feels a flash of hurt. Robin’s obviously been speaking to DCI Baker – they’d always been friends and it made sense for them to keep in touch – but why hadn’t Robin said he was coming today? They had been partners, mates – close. Too close, Freya’s fiancé Josh would have said, and she casts a quick look in his direction.

Josh is concentrating on the briefing, his handsome face in profile. He doesn’t seem to be showing any hostility towards the man with whom Freya spent the majority of her time when they worked together, but she knows Josh won’t be enjoying Robin’s return.

Before he left, just over a year ago, Freya was a detective constable, Robin a detective sergeant. And their time together had been the best of her career. He’d never worried about hierarchy, more concerned about the best way to solve a case, and they’d worked together seamlessly, their partnership gelling with ease. But it wasn’t just a working relationship.

Towards the end, there had been more. Feelings that had been impossible to hide. She feels her face grow hot as she thinks about it again, but Freya shakes her head, forcing the thoughts away. That’s done with. No point in dwelling. He’s happy with Jo – DCI Jo Craig, a rising star in the Devon and Cornwall constabulary, and now mother to his baby. And, of course, she’s engaged to Josh. Things worked out well in the end. Better, even.

A few questions are now being asked, and Robin is talking through the accelerant found at the crime scenes.

‘Petrol. Common-or-garden unleaded was used in all cases. The properties were broken into, locks crowbarred, then the petrol poured at the point most central to the target. Initial investigations report the same method was used for your case here.’

‘And you think it’s the same offender setting the fires? Across both counties? How can you be sure?’

It’s Josh’s question, and Robin’s face changes as he sees him. Imperceptible to anyone else, but Freya notices the slight lowering of the brow, a clenching of the jaw.

‘It’s a good point, DC Smith, thank you.’ A tight smile is returned from Josh. ‘The method of acceleration is the same, as I said. The MO of arsonists doesn’t tend to change, they’re creatures of habit. And we’ve always wondered about another location. The fires in Devon are in clumps. A group of about two or three over the space of a week or a fortnight. Then long periods of inactivity. We’d just started reaching out to other Major Crimes teams across the country, when DCI Baker called this morning.’

He looks across to Baker, who steps forward.

‘So, taking DI Butler’s lead,’ DCI Baker says in his rough east London accent, ‘I’d like to look a little deeper. We’re already aware of some of these arsons, although the severity hasn’t been enough to pull it to the top of our priority list. That changes now. Let’s take a closer look – find any others that fit the pattern. See if the signatures are there.’ He gives Robin a warm smile, and he picks up where he left off.

‘We’re putting together a task force,’ Robin says. ‘Cross-constabulary investigation to stop this offender before anyone else dies. The fire crew are still in the process of making this morning’s scene safe but that’s our first priority, once we can get in.’

Mina puts her hand up. ‘DI Butler, will you be running the investigation from here or from Devon?’

‘From here. At least, for the next few days. I’ll get things started, then hand over to Mouse – sorry, DI Ratcliffe – as soon as we’re up and running.’

Freya glances across to her superior officer. Ratcliffe’s scowling, his face like thunder. At over six feet and heavily built, he doesn’t immediately fit the nickname Mouse, but he has small, close-set eyes, with neat eyebrows and hair shaved so short it looks like fur. He reminds Freya of an oversized vole or a shrew – a comparison accentuated by the nuts and seeds that Ratcliffe eats out of small ziplock bags. He hasn’t minded the nickname in the past, but maybe playing second fiddle to a returning detective isn’t sitting well this morning.

Robin continues: ‘DCI Baker has some thoughts on who he’d like to be involved in the task force, but please feel free to throw your hat in the ring if you have an interest. Any other questions?’

A thousand pass through Freya’s head, none relevant to the investigation. Everyone stays quiet. ‘Then, thank you,’ Robin concludes.

Baker ends the briefing, and conversation once again fills the room as detectives shuffle back to their duties. Freya notices Mina staring at her.

‘What?’ Freya snaps affectionately.

‘So you haven’t seen him at all?’

‘No,’ Freya mutters. ‘I told you. And since when did Robin—’

‘Get so hot?’ Mina interrupts with a chuckle.

‘I was going to say, wear glasses. But yes, now you mention it.’

‘He’s always looked like that.’

‘No, he didn’t. His hair was a mess, he hardly ever shaved. He certainly didn’t iron. And now look at him.’

‘Jo’s obviously been a good influence,’ Mina replies, and Freya knows she’s studying her closely.

Mina knew about their feelings for each other and was their sole cheerleader in wishing for something to happen. But Mina’s right. Being with Jo Craig for this past year has obviously done Robin a world of good.

The two of them stand up, following their colleagues towards the door. But as she does so, she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see Robin. Tall. Weirdly handsome. And standing right next to her.

‘You weren’t trying to leave without saying hello?’ he says.

‘You seemed busy,’ she replies with a smile. She feels herself blushing. ‘They let you back in then.’

‘Apparently so.’ He grins. ‘I like the new hair.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ Her hand goes self-consciously to where her new cut now rests in a long bob on her shoulders. ‘I thought it was time for a change.’

‘It suits you.’

‘Thank you. Yours, too. Do you put product in that?’ Freya reaches to mess it up, in the affectionate way she might have once used, then pulls quickly back.

‘Yeah, some sort of wax stuff.’ He looks embarrassed. ‘Who knew I’d be that sort of bloke.’

‘Well, you look good.’

The exchange of compliments surprises them into silence. They stand awkwardly for a moment.

‘Are you—’ Robin begins, before Freya blurts out, ‘Why didn’t you—’

‘You go,’ Robin says.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming this morning?’

‘It was very last minute. And I thought it would be a surprise.’

‘I’m surprised.’

He tilts his head to one side. ‘In a good way?’

‘Yes, I…’ Then she stops, as Robin’s gaze shifts behind her.

‘Josh, how are you?’ he asks.

Josh puts an arm proprietarily around Freya’s waist.

‘I’m good. Detective inspector, is it now? Congrats.’

‘Robin’s fine, Josh. And still no DS promotion for you?’

It’s a dig, and Freya feels Josh bristling next to her.

‘No. Someone beat me to it,’ he says, with a squeeze of Freya’s waist. ‘Looks like both of you flourished outside your little partnership.’

Robin gives him a tight smile. ‘Well, we’ll be putting our career development on hold for a bit then. I’m hoping Freya will join me on the task force.’

‘Didn’t you just pick up a stalking case?’ Josh asks her pointedly. ‘Will you have the time?’

Freya feels two sets of eyes on her, the weight of expectation to do the right thing. ‘No, you’re right,’ she says. ‘I’m up to my ears as it is. And I know nothing about arson.’

She’s glad when DCI Baker joins them, relieving the tension. ‘Leave Freya alone,’ he says, letting her off the hook. ‘You can’t have all my best detectives, Butler. Desai has expressed an interest, and Mouse says Smith here is at a loose end.’

The look on Josh’s face makes Freya cringe. Pure horror at the thought he’s going to have to work for Robin. This can’t end well.

‘Problem, Smith?’ Baker asks.

Josh swallows. ‘No, guv.’

‘That’s settled then. Robin, let’s talk about logistics.’ And with a final smile, Robin’s ushered away.

Freya looks up at Josh, his gaze fixed on Robin as he leaves.

‘How nice,’ Josh says, sarcastically. ‘It’ll be like old times.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Freya says, trying to keep her voice light. She gives Josh a quick hug. ‘You heard him. He’s only here for a few days, then we’ll go back to normal.’

Josh nods slowly, seemingly reassured, and they head back to the office. But as they file up the stairs, Freya feels a strange sense of déjà vu.

There is no normal anymore. With Robin’s return, she knows everything’s changed.

---

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