Free Frankie by Kevin Lewis Page A

sniffing glue round Elephant and Castle.’
    Mary turned to look at him. Her big, frightened eyes made him feel suddenly uncomfortable, and he wishedhe hadn’t said what he’d just said. He held up the CCTV picture in front of her. ‘Come on, Mary. You can help us. Do you recognize this woman?’ He tried to smile at her, but it was a false smile and Mary – with the insight of a child – knew it.
    She looked impassively at the picture, and then the stony-faced front she had been putting up dissolved once more, just as it had in front of the nice police officer last night. ‘He had a knife,’ she wept into her hands.
    ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened?’
    But Mary was too distraught to speak again. Taylor stood uncomfortably as huge sobs racked the body of the waif of a girl in front of him. He’d been too heavy-handed – she was no good to him in this state. ‘Look,’ he said, trying to be reasonable once more. ‘If this was the girl who did it, I’ll find out one way or another. You might as well tell me now, and then I’ll leave you alone. OK?’
    ‘She was just trying to help me,’ Mary cried. ‘It wasn’t her fault!’
    ‘What’s her name, Mary?’
    But the girl just returned his question with a bloodshot stare. ‘I don’t know,’ she lied unconvincingly.
    Suddenly the door opened and a young woman carrying a briefcase walked in. She was dressed in an inexpensive black two-piece suit and her hair was tied tightly back. She took in the scene before turning to Taylor with an angry look. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Detective Inspector Mark Taylor, CID,’ he replied abruptly. ‘And who the hell are you?’
    The woman fished an ID card out of her pocket. ‘Susan Williamson, social services. This girl is a minor. What are you doing interviewing her without me present?’
    ‘I wasn’t interviewing her, we were just having a little chat. Weren’t we, Mary?’
    Mary didn’t answer.
    The social worker pursed her lips at him. ‘May I have a word outside, Detective?’
    ‘Sure,’ Taylor shrugged. Mary’s eyes followed him as he left the room. ‘We’ll continue this later, Mary.’
    Once they were both outside and the door was shut, the social worker turned to Taylor with a fierce look in her eyes. ‘I don’t have to tell you that you’ve broken just about every regulation in the book, Detective,’ she fumed.
    Taylor raised an eyebrow at her. ‘And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that somewhere out there I’ve got an unhinged vagrant on the loose with a penchant for sticking bottles into people’s necks. This girl knows who she is.’
    ‘Do you intend to arrest her?’
    ‘Of course I don’t intend to arrest her. She hasn’t done anything.’
    They stared at each other for a few seconds before the social worker let out an explosive breath of air. ‘This is outrageous,’ she muttered, then turned on her heel and walked back into the room.
    As the door shut, Taylor turned to the officer outside. ‘You could have told me she was coming,’ he grumbled, before walking away and leaving the officer behind him shaking his head in confusion.
    Andrew Meeken was director of the Investigations and Prosecutions Department at the SFO. He was a mild-mannered man who shunned the spotlight and was favourite to replace the current director of the SFO whenhe stepped down in two years’ time. His head was buried in his morning briefings when there was a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he called.
    Sean Carter put his head round the door. ‘Sir, can I have a word, please?’
    Meeken raised his head as Carter walked into the office. ‘Of course, Sean. Have a seat.’ He always believed in calling people by their first name – respect for your fellow man and all that. ‘How are you settling in?’
    ‘Fine, sir. I have a request on a case I’m dealing with. I need the assistance of the Met.’
    ‘Anything particular?’
    ‘I need help tracking someone