Eeny Meeny (28 page)

‘I said I’d be contactable 24/7, do you mind bringing the file back up with you?’

Sarah rolled her eyes and carried on walking. She was a brisk lady who didn’t like to waste time.

Which meant Helen would have to move fast. Heading back to the entrance, she veered off left sharply. Her eyes scanned feverishly – where the hell were the Cs? Sarah’s clip-clop heels could be heard slowing down. She must be near to Jarrot’s file.

C. There we are. Faster, faster, Helen flicked through the files. Casper, Cottrill, Crawley … Sarah was on her way back now. Helen only had seconds left, when … there it was. In any other circumstances she would have hesitated to touch it, even the thought of it was traumatic. But now Helen grabbed it and thrust it into her bag.

When Sarah returned to the entrance, Helen was waiting for her.

‘Was in my bag all along. Honestly I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.’

Sarah Miles rolled her eyes again and the pair exited, Helen breathing a short, secret sigh of relief.

91

Charlie’s wound had proved to be superficial, but because she was expecting the doctors had kept her in longer than usual to monitor her condition. As a result, most of the station now knew she was pregnant. As she entered the incident room, the team crowded round, asking how she felt, suggesting she go home – but Charlie was determined to stay on and help the team.

People were impressed by her stoicism, but in truth she was badly shaken by Tanner’s attack on her. Her only thought had been for her baby, whom she had so casually put in jeopardy. How could she have faced Steve if she’d lost the baby they’d both craved for so long? All she wanted to do was go home, curl up with Steve and have a good cry. And yet Charlie knew that the force was still a deeply misogynistic place and that any sign of weakness by a woman – however justified – would be pounced on by her male colleagues. You’d be labelled as a weak link and treated accordingly. And God help you if you put babies before the job. As soon as they had you down as a mother hen, they wrote you off. If you wanted extended maternity leave or to work part-time, you might as well ask for a transfer to administration. Nobody likes a part-timer on the front line.

There was no place for sentiment – it was all or nothing. That was why everyone respected Helen Grace, because she was never off duty, never allowed her home life to interfere, she was the perfect female officer. She made it damn hard for the rest of them, set the bar too high, but that was the way it was. So Charlie stayed. Even though she was shaken to the core, she wasn’t going to let people write her off after she’d worked so hard to get here.

Mark bided his time, waiting for the crowd to disperse, before crossing the room to give Charlie a big hug. She knew why he was hanging back – there were doubters in the room, people who would take a while to trust Mark again, so it wouldn’t do for him to be at the front of the queue. Screw them, thought Charlie, holding Mark in a bear hug for longer than was strictly necessary. She wanted to make a point to the rest of the team. Perhaps some of her saintliness would rub off on him and speed up his redemption.

Soon they would have to swallow their suspicions about Mark and quit the innuendos – Mickery was talking. Charlie shouldn’t know that of course, but walls have ears and Mickery had hardly left the police infirmary since she’d been picked up. It was her sanctuary and she had all her discussions with Anti-Corruption there. Charlie had enough friends amongst the bored and gossipy WPCs who had to keep an eye on Mickery. They passed on what they picked up and the word was that Mickery had had a romantic relationship with Whittaker after he had used her professionally. Were they still sleeping together when the killings started? And who was it that came up with their scheme to enrich themselves? It didn’t matter really. Mark was going to be in the clear – that was what mattered.

The big question would be how would Mark react when Helen was in the room? If they could find a way to get along then his resurrection would be assured. If they couldn’t he was in big trouble.

Right on cue, Helen entered. She didn’t acknowledge Mark’s return, instead calling everyone together to allot tasks.

‘So we now know that Sandy Morten had a stroke,’ she began. ‘He wasn’t harmed by Mickery – his body just couldn’t cope with the conditions. He’s in ITU and fighting hard, but believe it or not, he was lucky. If those boys hadn’t found him when they did, we’d have another corpse on our hands. Doctors think he’ll pull through. What does this tell us?’

‘That he wasn’t part of the plan,’ replied DC Bridges.

‘Exactly. She spared Mickery and Morten. Was never serious about killing them. They were just her little joke. Her way of hurrying the game along.’

Helen scanned the team and was pleased to see anger mingling with determination. Police officers hate being goaded.

‘So it’s time for us to push up a gear, be one step ahead of her for a change. Top priority is to find Stephanie Bines. She’s the obvious next victim and I do not want her death on our consciences. Charlie, can you coordinate efforts on this? Use whoever, whatever you need – we have to find her. Mark, I need you to focus on finding Louise Tanner. She’s highly dangerous, has a particular animus against me and has already attempted to kill one of our own. So pick a couple of guys and get on her, ok?’

Mark nodded, the eyes of the team upon him. He was playing it just right, Helen thought – straight, unembarrassed, determined. He was making a superhuman effort – with his colleagues, with his appearance (ok, he still looked like shit but was clean and sober) and with her. She felt massively grateful to him and pleased that he had decided to trust her once more.

The team sprang to life. Now that Helen was acting station commander, her officers were even more determined to win her approbation and there was a sense that the man or woman who brought the killer in would be in pole position to succeed Helen as DI. So everyone redoubled their efforts, scenting glory.

Helen retired to the privacy of Whittaker’s office. Even though he was currently suspended and in reality would never be returning to this nick, it still felt like
his
office. So Helen avoided sitting in his chair for now, standing next to his desk as she once more leafed through the file she had just stolen.

She picked up the phone, rang Social Services and soon had the address she needed.

The rest of the team were out hunting down Bines and Tanner, so Helen had a few hours’ grace. But that still wouldn’t be enough and she had a long way to go, so she cranked the throttle and sped on her way. The M25 was its usual snarled-up self and so it was with some relief that she peeled off on to the M11. Soon she was on to the A11 and heading towards Norfolk.

Following the signs for Bury St Edmunds, Helen found herself in unfamiliar territory. As she zeroed in on her destination, she realized that she felt nervous. This was an uncomfortable place for her and returning to it was like opening Pandora’s box.

The house was a pleasant-looking bay-fronted house with well-kept gardens. Technically it was a hostel, but it looked much nicer than that. Locals knew to be wary of it, but a passer-by would think it an attractive, welcoming place.

Helen had called ahead so was swiftly ushered in to meet the hostel manager. She confirmed her credentials, presented the most recent photo and trotted out her cover story with assurance. She knew it was a long shot, but nevertheless she felt deflated when the manager told her that Suzanne Cooke had not been seen for over a year. She had never really fitted in, the manager confided, never seemed interested in engaging with their programmes. They had obviously alerted the probation services after she’d vanished, but what with the cutbacks and reorganization they never spoke to the same person twice and her case was never followed up.

‘We’d love to do more, but there’s only so much we can do. We have our hands full here as it is,’ the manager concluded.

‘I understand – it’s tough. Tell me a little more about Suzanne. What did she do when she was here? Did she have friends? Anyone she confided in?’

‘Not that I know of. She didn’t really join in. Kept herself very much to herself. Mostly she liked to exercise. She’s very well-built, muscular, athletic. She did a lot of body-building and when she wasn’t in the gym, she was helping out with the culling. She was stronger than most of the blokes, they said.’

‘Culling?’

‘In Thetford Forest. It’s only a couple of miles away and every year we allow some of our residents to help out with the summer cull if they want to. It’s strictly supervised obviously because of the firearms, but some people like it – it’s hard manual labour and you get a whole day out in the fresh air.’

‘How so?’

‘It’s mostly red deer in Thetford. They are shot early in the day, usually in remote areas of the forest. It’s pretty impassable for vehicles, so draggers have to get them back to the nearest track so they can be loaded up.’

‘How?’

‘Using a deer harness. You tie the deer’s legs together, then clip a canvas cord round the bind. The cord is attached to a harness – bit like a mountaineer’s harness – that you put on round your shoulders. Then you drag the deer along behind you. Much easier than trying to carry it.’

Another piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place.

92

Charlie stared at the computer screen, her stomach knotted with tension. Skype was doing its trilly ring tone thing and Charlie was praying someone would answer. The fate of Stephanie Bines hung in the balance.

It had been an exhausting search, but Charlie had never given up hope. Accompanied by DCs Bridges and Grounds, she’d trawled every low-rent pub, café and nightclub in Southampton and beyond. The conversation always went the same way:

‘Yeah, we know Stephanie. Used to work here few months back. Very popular, especially with the fellas.’

‘And do you know where she is now?’

‘No idea. Just didn’t show up for work one day.’

Initially this had made Charlie extremely nervous. Any mention of sudden disappearances was likely to do so in this case, but slowly Charlie formed a picture of a naturally itinerant young woman, not comfortable in herself, who didn’t form strong attachments to people or places. She was a traveller who had dropped anchor on the south coast, but something told Charlie that this was only a temporary mooring. So she’d stopped pounding the streets and returned to the incident room to run a check on international travel. The last trace of her in Southampton was in September, so she started there. Aided by her DCs she bashed the phones to Qantas, British Airways, Emirates, before eventually hitting the jackpot with Singapore Airlines. October the 16th, Stephanie Bines, one-way ticket to Melbourne. Further checks revealed that Stephanie had a sister living in a suburb of Melbourne and Stephanie had now been traced – alive and well seemingly – to her home there.

But Charlie was taking no chances, hence the Skype hook-up. The killer’s ability to mislead and deceive was such that Charlie wouldn’t, couldn’t relax until she’d seen Stephanie with her own eyes.

And there she was. More tanned than before, blonder than before, but definitely Stephanie. A small victory for Charlie, Helen and the team. They had saved one at least. Had Stephanie’s sudden decision to return home spoiled the killer’s best-laid plans?

Stephanie didn’t need much encouragement to get travelling again. She’d only been at home a few weeks, but already was feeling suffocated and belittled. Charlie had to think on her feet, inventing a mild security risk connected to the gangland trial Stephanie had helped to conclude. She was calm and reassuring, but suggested it might be best for Stephanie and her family if she took a little trip – to Queensland, the Red Centre, wherever – whilst they got to the bottom of things over here.

Charlie ended their Skype session with a sense of optimism – perhaps the killer wasn’t so invincible after all.

Her attention was suddenly caught by Mark, gesturing to her from across the incident room. She hurried over.

‘Station have just taken a call. Tanner’s been spotted begging near the old kids’ hospital on Spire Street.’

‘When?’

‘Five minutes ago. Mum with a buggy called it in. She’d given Tanner a quid and nearly lost her whole purse into the bargain.’

They were on the road and heading to the city centre. Was Tanner their killer? They would soon find out. Charlie felt her pulse quicken, as she and Mark sped to the scene. It was good to be back in the saddle together and closing in for the kill.

93

There are countless moments in the average life when you have to decide whether to open yourself up or bury yourself deep. In love, at work, amongst your family, with friends, there are moments when you have to decide whether you are ready to reveal your true self.

Helen had deliberately made herself an enigma. She had a thick carapace that she presented to the world and it defined her – she was tough, resilient, incapable of doubt or regret. She knew that was far from the truth, but it was amazing how many others bought it. We always question ourselves more than we question others and most of her colleagues and occasional lovers seemed to buy the image of a tough, committed career copper who could not be shocked, frightened or intimidated. The longer she kept it up, the more people believed it, which is why she had taken on an aura of other-worldliness, especially amongst uniform.

Helen knew all this and paused for breath now as she stood on the verge of smashing the idol she had created. Letting others in now was the right thing to do and could save lives, but it came at a cost to Helen, dredging up events and decisions that had been buried deep.

DC Bridges entered, breaking Helen’s introspective trance. He was carrying the case files she’d requested. As they pored over the pages together, discreetly tucked away in her office, Helen was constantly evaluating each link in the chain, double-and triple-checking her assumptions. There could be no room for doubt.