Eeny Meeny (26 page)

‘Again.’

Jake obliged, but knew that he should call time on their session now. It had been an enjoyable encounter – almost like old times – and if they were smart they would quit while they were ahead.

‘One more.’

Jake raised the crop with relief, bringing it home with a little more speed and strength than usual. She groaned – a satiated, happy groan. Jake found himself wondering if a change was taking place. Was she beginning to take sexual pleasure from her punishment? Many of the women he beat finished themselves off in front of him without embarrassment, brought almost to the point of orgasm by the cruel but delicious blows he administered. Would she allow herself to go there? Could he take her there?

Jake had found himself spending more and more time thinking about her. He had always been curious, but since their falling out and reconciliation, he’d found it hard to stop trying to fathom her inner workings. Why did she hate herself so much? In his mind, he’d rehearsed a dozen different ways to broach the subject, but in the end the question just popped out – surprising both of them.

‘Before you go, is there anything you want to talk about?’

She paused, regarding him curiously.

‘I mean … you know that everything that happens here is private and discreet, so if you did want to talk there’s no need to worry. What’s said here stays here.’

‘What would I talk about?’ Her response was curious but noncommittal.

‘You, I suppose.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Perhaps because you want to. Because you feel comfortable here. Perhaps this is the ideal space for you to tell me how you feel.’

‘How I
feel
?’

‘Yes. How do you feel when you come here? And how do you feel when you leave?’

She looked at him strangely, then gathering her things said:

‘I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this.’

And she was heading for the door. Jake stepped forward, gently but firmly blocking her path.

‘Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want to pry and I certainly don’t want to hurt you. I just want to know how I can help you.’

‘Help me?’

‘Yes, help you. You’re a good, strong person with so much to give, but you hate yourself and it doesn’t make any sense. So please let me help you. You’ve got no reason to beat yourself up like this and perhaps if you would talk to me …’

He petered out, such was the ferocity of the glare that she directed at him now. It was a toxic mixture of anger, bile and disappointment.

‘Fuck you, Jake.’

With that she pushed him out of the way and was gone. Jake slumped on to the chair – he had played that all wrong and would now pay the price. He knew with absolute certainty that he would never see Helen Grace again.

84

Everyone has a tipping point. A line that must not be crossed. I was no different. Had the stupid bastard been sensible then none of this would have happened. But he was dumb and greedy and that’s why I decided to kill him.

I was a wreck by this point. I’d given up on life – I knew that it was my lot to be damaged and discarded. I’d made my peace with that – after all, that’s what happened to the girls I knew. None of them made it out the other side. Look at my mother – a sorry fucking excuse for a person. She was a doormat, a punch bag, but worse than that she was an accomplice. She knew what he was doing to me. What Jimmy and the rest were doing to me. But she did nothing. She ignored it and just carried on. If he kicked her out, she’d probably die in the streets, no one else would have her. So she took the easy way out. If anything I hated her more than I hated him.

At least that’s what I thought until that day. When I saw him come into our bedroom and hesitate. Normally he just charged in and took his fill – he liked things to be brief and violent. But that day he paused and, for the first time, his gaze drifted to the top bunk.

I knew what that gaze meant, what evil thoughts were spinning round his head. Strangely, he backed off, walked out. Maybe wasn’t quite ready to go there yet. But I knew it was only a matter of time. And in that moment my mind was made up.

I decided there and then that I was going to kill the fucker.

And what’s more I was going to enjoy doing it.

85

‘It’s not difficult to do. Do you want me to show you how?’

Simon Ashworth had some colour in his cheeks for the first time in days. Hiding out in Helen’s flat, he’d become a nervous, fidgety creature, eating little and smoking a lot. But now Helen had some work for him – and proper detective work at that – he had perked up. He loved a chance to show off his technical expertise and Helen had just handed him an opportunity on a plate.

He’d been surprised by her sudden arrival. She burst in and started firing questions at him, without asking him how he was or bothering to update him on the Whittaker situation. She seemed agitated, distracted, and as she filled him in on the details of the investigation he could see why. He took it all in, but still it was mind-blowing. Progress had clearly been made, however. DI Grace had worked out why the victims were targeted, now she wanted to know how the killer did it. How did the killer know her victims’ movements so well that she could be on hand at the perfect moment to offer them a lift and then abduct them?

Some of them, such as Ben Holland’s weekly meeting, were easy for any ordinary stalker to work out. And Marie and Anna never left the flat. But what about Amy? Or Martina? Their movements were impulsive and unpredictable. How could you climb inside their minds?

‘Presuming they don’t post their movements in advance on social media sites and so on, the best way to monitor their plans is to hack into their communications,’ Simon began. For once Helen was silent and Simon relished the brief shift in power.

‘Hacking into their phone communications is tricky as it requires you to lay your hands on their phone and insert a chip. Possible but risky. Much easier to hack into their email accounts.’

‘How?’

‘First step is to go to their Facebook site, or anything similar that has personal information on them. Normally you can get their email address from there – gmail, hotmail, whatever – plus loads of info about their family, date of birth, favourite holiday destinations, et cetera. Then you call up their email service provider and tell them that you can’t access your emails any more as you’ve forgotten your password. They will ask you a number of fairly standard security questions – your mum’s maiden name, name of a pet, significant date, favourite place – most of which you should be able to answer if you’ve done your homework properly. They will then tell you the old password and ask you if you want to keep it or change it. You tell them to keep it as is, leaving the actual account holder none the wiser and meaning you can now access all their emails on your own device. Simple.’

‘And would we be able to tell if someone’s account was being accessed by more than one device?’

‘Sure. Their account provider would be able to tell you if you could persuade them. They are a bit funny about that but if you tell them it’s a murder enquiry they’ll probably play ball.’

Helen thanked Simon and headed back to the nick. He had proved to be crucial to this case in ways she could never have predicted. Amy had emailed her mum giving her the exact details of when she’d be hitchhiking home. Had the killer accessed these emails and lain in wait? Similarly Martina had emailed her sister – the one person from her old life that she still kept in contact with – asking if she could pay her a visit, get away from Southampton. Was this how the killer had traced Matty? And was this why ‘Cyn’ abducted them when she did, fearing that if Matty/Martina departed to her sister’s in London the opportunity would be lost?

More questions than answers, but finally Helen felt she was getting closer to the truth.

86

‘Stay away from me.’

Mickery hissed out the words, but Whittaker ignored her, advancing upon her.

‘You lay one finger on me and I’ll scream this whole place down.’

She’d been put in the station infirmary overnight. There she could rest whilst being protected 24/7. The callow PC on duty for the late, late shift hadn’t picked up anything unusual in being allowed a fag break by the station chief. It was yet another sign of what a good bloke he was. Whittaker knew he had five minutes max and intended to make the most of it.

‘I need to know what you’re going to do.’

‘I mean it. Don’t come any closer.’

‘For God’s sake, Hannah, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, Michael.’

He attempted to reach out to her, console her, but she pulled away sharply.

‘This is your fault. This is all your –’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You came to me.’

‘Why didn’t you find me?’

The vulnerability in her voice shocked him.

‘I was in hell, Mike. Why didn’t you find me?’

Suddenly all his anger dissipated and he was filled with pity. He felt a lump in his throat, a sudden welling of sadness. He had first met Hannah in the aftermath of the botched shooting that ended his front-line career. She had counselled him, healed him, and the pair had fallen in love. He’d kept her existence secret because he didn’t want the world to know he had a shrink, but his feelings for her were sincere.

‘We tried, Hannah, my God we tried. We threw everything at it. Every uniform I could spare without arousing –’

Hannah looked up sharply.

‘Without giving yourself away?’

It was said with real bitterness.

‘I tried, believe me. I really, really tried. But there was no trace of you. Or Sandy. You’d vanished off the face of the earth. I don’t know if this killer is human … or a bloody ghost. But we couldn’t pick up her trail. I am so, so sorry. If I could have swapped places with you I would have, believe me …’

‘Don’t say that. Don’t you
dare
say that.’

‘What do you want me to say?’

The question hung in the air. Whittaker knew he only had moments left – everything was telling him to leave.

‘I want you to tell me it never happened. I want to have never met you. I want never to have fallen in love. I want you to have kept your killer to yourself. I want it all to go away. I wish I wasn’t here any more. I wish I didn’t exist.’

Whittaker stared, lost for words in the torrent of her despair.

‘But you needn’t worry. I’m not going to tell them about you. I’m going to keep quiet. I’m going to do as I’m told and then maybe I will live.’

She returned to her bed and faced the wall.

‘Thank you, Hannah.’

It was inadequate, grossly so, but time was pressing, so Whittaker slipped out. Moments later, the young PC reappeared, stinking of cheap cigarettes and Whittaker slapped him on the back and departed. Back in his office, Whittaker exhaled. The original plan had been to retire together with millions in the bank. That was screwed now, but at least he was in the clear. It had all gone horribly, horribly wrong, but he was going to be ok. He’d been up all night and was shattered, but as the sun began to rise, Whittaker felt a surge of energy and optimism.

Which is when there was a sharp knock on the door. Before he had a chance to respond, Helen entered – flanked by two officers from Anti-Corruption.

87

Stephanie Bines was nowhere to be found. Itinerant workers are particularly hard to locate, especially those who work in bars. It’s a promiscuous profession in which the promise of a few bucks more prompts people to jump ship all the time. Stephanie Bines had worked in most of the bars in Southampton – she was attractive and funny, but also flighty and temperamental – and no one had seen her for a while.

After the court case, she’d considered going back home, but she’d run away from Australia for a reason and the idea of returning there with her tail between her legs – still broke and unattached – didn’t appeal. So she hopped from Southampton to Portsmouth and did what she did before – work, drink, screw and sleep. She was a piece of driftwood washed up on the south coast.

There was no response at her last known address. Sanderson had paid a visit but it was a come-and-go place where you paid by the week and Stephanie hadn’t been seen there for ages. The owner, suspicious of the police and uncertain who or what might be discovered in his cheap rooms, was not keen to help – demanding a warrant before he’d open any doors. The team immediately applied for one, but it would take time. So they resumed their search in the city centre clubs and bars, the local hospitals, cab firms and more. But still there was no trace.

She had vanished.

88

Whittaker eyeballed Helen. Neither was speaking – Anti-Corruption were formally laying out the accusations – but Helen felt she was being interrogated nevertheless. Whittaker’s glare bore into her skull as if he was trying to divine her thoughts.

‘I must say I’m surprised at you, Helen. I thought you had more sense than this.’

DS Lethbridge from Anti-Corruption came to an abrupt halt, surprised by the sudden interruption.

‘I thought we’d cleared this matter up,’ Whittaker continued, ‘and now I find it landing on my doorstep. I don’t have to remind you that there is an active investigation going on that should have your
full
attention.’

Helen refused to drop her gaze, refused to be intimidated. Lethbridge started up again but Whittaker just talked over him.

‘I can only assume that this is about ambition. Perhaps you felt that you weren’t moving up the ladder quick enough. Perhaps me promoting you to be the youngest female DI this nick’s ever had wasn’t sufficient reward. But let me tell you something – maliciously stabbing senior officers in the back is not the way to get ahead. As you’re about to discover.’

He never took his eyes off her. Helen broke the stare first – a pang of conscience, guilt – though why she should be feeling guilty was beyond her. This was classic Whittaker – reminding her of what she owed him, whilst delivering a veiled threat. He was adept at not crossing the line, whilst nevertheless intimidating and neutralizing anyone who threatened his position. It was true that Whittaker had ‘spotted’ her, plucked her out as a promising DC and helped her slide up the promotion chain all the way to Inspector. And then she had turned on him. But what he had done was so bad – not just his relationship with Mickery and his leaking of crucial information, but his scapegoating of Mark and Simon Ashworth – that in reality she should feel nothing but contempt.