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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

R obert had assumed he’d have to grovel more. If she’d been his lover, he’d have gone into Central Station and picked up a large bouquet from the florist – not one of those pre-made options from the supermarket. But his instincts had told him that if he showed up with flowers or anything flamboyant, he’d get a kick in the nuts.

So he’d done the opposite to what he’d have done for Anne.

Robert was genuinely sorry. He’d let Nina down in the worse way possible. And despite all her talk about not working with people, she’d just agreed to team up with him. He eyed her, trying to figure out why.

They were sitting in Nina’s apartment again, their mugs of masala chai growing cold on the kitchen counter, while Nina placed various papers on the table. She hadn’t bothered explaining what they were, but the papers said things like ‘trafficking’, ‘passports’, ‘refugees’…

When Nina stepped back from the table with a frown on her face, Robert cleared his throat. ‘What are we doing?’

She waved a hand towards the table. ‘Anne worked for Malcolm and Associates, didn’t she?’

He nodded.

‘And she was at the building that night. I want to see if she could’ve been my lead. Did she say anything about her work, her boss, anything that might’ve been a cause for alarm or just strange?’

Robert stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to think back to the times he and Anne had taken the time for an actual conversation in the months leading up to her death. His memory had nothing to offer. ‘We didn’t exactly talk about work. But she seemed happy enough with her job.’

‘And you found no documents at home?’

‘Nothing.’ Robert leaned in to read Nina’s notes. ‘How is all this linked?’

Nina picked up the sheet of paper she’d set at the top of the table. ‘About two years ago, after I’d written an article on alcoholism in today’s youth, I was contacted by an editor at the Daily Mail who wanted to do a follow-up piece on sham marriages. I checked them out, and they were legit enough. When I agreed to write that article, I was transferred over to another editor, who insisted I work with their photographer: Jonas Pedersen. I didn’t like it, but I needed the work. I don’t do well with sitting idle.

‘So I began digging into the case. But I eventually uncovered a bigger issue than people gaming the immigration system by entering into fake marriages. I had two leads. They both had a similar story. They’d immigrated to this country alongside their friends, and these friends had been tricked into a fake marriage.’ Nina found another sheet of paper. ‘Their friends had come to the UK as refugees and had attained British citizenship. The lawyers who helped them get settled then asked them for a favour – to get married. They told these women their marriages were perfectly legal.’

Robert nodded. ‘A fake marriage isn’t legal, but?—’

‘They trusted those lawyers. Only, their marriages turned out to be abusive. But going to the police wasn’t an option. If they were caught in a fraudulent marriage – they’d face dire consequences. Still, when they approached a third party for help, both women went missing. No one’s heard from them in over six months.’

Robert sighed. ‘I’m guessing they’re not the only ones?’

‘I found several people – those who’d moved to the UK pre-Brexit, or who came into the country and were told by lawyers they now had British citizenship. However, those passports are fake and owned by a group of… thugs. Seeking help from the authorities isn’t an option, so these immigrants are forced to work odd jobs and live in less-than-safe conditions. A gang of agents and lawyers make money out of this almost free labour.’ Nina huffed out a breath and dropped into the armchair. ‘So naturally I wanted to investigate that.’

Robert considered that. Human trafficking was a sensitive subject, with whole task forces and only elite-law enforcement officials entrusted to deal with it. With the amount of money to be made in human trafficking and the scum who were involved in it, the area was as risky as it could be, especially for a lone reporter.

‘When did you pivot to researching that?’ Robert sat down on the sofa. ‘And are Malcolm and Associates somehow involved in it?’

Nina shrugged. ‘I began intensively digging into evidence two months or so before the murders. The investigation was discreet, with only a handful of people aware of what I was doing. I used an unhackable system to store sensitive notes. There was no way someone would’ve found me.’

Robert snorted. ‘Nothing is unhackable.’

‘I used an old email ID no one knows about. I stored my notes as draft emails. Besides, I didn’t suspect Malcolm and Associates at the time. I went there to ask them for their opinion, to find out what the legitimate process is for a spousal visa. And for information about refugee rights…’

Anne had told him that much about Malcolm and Associates – that they worked in immigration law. Only, Nina no longer thought they were on the up and up. ‘Why do you suspect them?’

‘Dickheadson does.’ Nina pushed off the armchair, setting the pages she’d lifted off the table back in their haphazard places. ‘Besides, the night of the murders, Malcolm and Associates vanished off the face of the earth.’

Robert sat up in his seat. ‘So you’re connecting what happened to you with the lawyers? That would explain why Anne was there. She had intel for you. And someone from her firm wanted to stop her from sharing that intel with you.’

It all fit! And it explained what Anne had been up to – not finding love and solace in another man’s arms. He’d been a dick to her as a husband, but they had taken vows to be faithful and he… he’d have hated himself knowing he couldn’t be the man she needed.

Robert ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t been the man she needed, whether or not she had a lover. ‘So we look at Anne’s colleagues?’

Nina shook her head. ‘There are no colleagues to look at. It’s like the entire firm never existed. I tried looking for them – nothing. No, we need to reach out to your pal at the locker place. See if he remembers Anne. And we need access to their CCTV. Whoever stole from that locker must have done it after the murders.’

And if they caught the person on camera, it would be as good as seeing their killer in action. There was only one small glitch to that plan. ‘The store’s cameras don’t actually record anything. They just play the live video.’

Nina shut her eyes. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I thought it was a storage locker business.’

Based on what he’d seen, calling them a storage locker business was a bit of a stretch. ‘I’d say it’s a convenience store with lockers inside, and they’re really sloppy at their jobs. But we could ask the man at the store if he’s seen Anne before, show him a picture. It might help jog his memory.’