Eeny Meeny (12 page)

36

The decorations were coming down and life was getting back to normal. There’s something peculiarly sad and depressing about an office still swathed in tinsel after the Christmas festivities have passed. Some people like to keep them up until well into January, but Helen wasn’t one of them and she’d tasked a pliant constable with removing every last bauble and streamer. Helen wanted her incident room back the way it should be. She wanted to refocus.

Predictably Whittaker wanted an update, so Helen headed straight to his office. The press coverage of Sam’s murder seemed to have calmed down a bit – a large seizure of cocaine at Portsmouth harbour had distracted the local crime reporters for now – and Whittaker was happy enough, so their catch-up was brief for once.

Returning to the incident room, Helen could tell immediately that something was up – there was a tension in the atmosphere, with no one quite daring to meet her eye. Charlie hurried over, then paused, unsure how to start. It was the first time Helen had ever seen her tongue-tied.

‘What’s happened?’ Helen demanded.

‘Sanderson just took a call from uniform.’

‘And?’

‘They’re down at Melbourne Tower.’

Oh God no.

‘A mother and daughter found dead in their flat. Marie and Anna Storey. I’m so sorry.’

Helen looked at her as if she was mad – as if she was playing a sick joke on her – but Charlie’s face was so solemn and pained that Helen knew immediately that she was telling the truth.

‘When?’

‘Call came in half an hour ago. But you were in with the Chief and –’

‘You should have interrupted. For God’s sake, Charlie, why didn’t you come and get me?’

‘I wanted more details first.’

‘What details? Why?’

‘I think … we think that this might be the third abduction.’

With the eyes of her team on her, Helen tried her damnedest to keep her composure. She instigated the usual procedures, but her mind was already halfway across town. She had to get down there to see for herself if it was really possible. Biking to Melbourne Tower she thought of all things – good and bad – that they’d been through together. Was this really the end that had been waiting for them all along? Was this their reward for the years of struggling through?

Some days life really kicked you in the throat. Helen had felt sick when Charlie told her the news. She desperately wanted it to be a mistake and wished with all her heart that she could turn back time and somehow make it
untrue
. But she couldn’t – Marie and Anna were dead. A team of demolition experts recceing the estate had spotted a weird SOS message, daubed on a bedsheet and hung from a fourth-floor window. They investigated but couldn’t raise anyone, despite the fact that the lights and TV were still on, so rang the police. The attending constables had been none too pleased – it had taken them ages to get the iron grille off and the front door was so dead-locked it took repeated attempts to barrel-charge it. They’d been convinced all along that the whole thing was a waste of time – that the inhabitants were deliberately hiding or high on drugs or some such. But on entering, they’d found a mother and daughter lying together on the living room floor.

Their first thought was suicide. Lock yourself in and do the deed. Except on further investigation they hadn’t found any keys – to the deadlocks or indeed to the padlocks that secured the grilles. Stranger still, the victims had a loaded gun. It was lying on the floor beside them, unused. There were no ligatures, no empty bottle of pills or bleach – no visible signs anywhere of suicide. An examination of the exterior showed no signs of forced entry and nothing seemed to have been taken. It was all very odd, they were just … dead. The flies that circled their bodies suggested they had been dead for some time.

Helen told uniform to search the block and surrounding grounds – ‘We’re looking for a mobile phone’ – whilst she joined forensics with the bodies. She’d never lost her cool in front of fellow officers but she did now. It was too appalling seeing the pair of them like that. They had been through so much, suffered so much and yet always the love had been there. There had always been smiles and laughter, even amidst the daily degradation and abuse. Helen was convinced this wasn’t suicide on these grounds alone and the presence of the gun put it beyond doubt.

Helen walked into the tiny kitchen to recover her composure. Idly, she flicked open the cupboards, the fridge. No food. Not even tinned or preserved food. The whole space had been cleared of anything edible and yet … the bin was empty. There were no wrappers or bottles lying around. As the thought started to lodge in her mind, Helen felt vomit rising. She forced it down and marched over to the sink. Turned on the tap. Nothing. As she’d expected. Picked up the phone. Dead. Helen sank down on to the nearest chair.

‘You think this is her doing?’ Mark had entered the room. Helen nodded, then:

‘She locked them in. Took their food, cut off the water, cut off the phone, left them the gun. We won’t find any keys to the deadlocks or the padlocks because she took them with her …’

Mother and daughter trapped in their own home, unable to escape, unable to rouse anyone who might be concerned about them. It was the most lonely way to die. If there was any consolation in the fact that ‘she’ hadn’t won, hadn’t succeeded in making Marie kill her own daughter, Helen didn’t feel it now.

37

Today had been the darkest of days. The worst since it happened. Today was the day of Ben’s funeral. To start with Peter Brightston had avoided his victim like the plague – didn’t want to know how his fiancée and friends were suffering or what they thought. But, as the days passed, he found himself spending more and more time online, checking out Ben’s memorial page, the messages on his Facebook page, climbing inside the life he’d destroyed.

Three days ago, he’d seen details of the funeral being posted by Ben’s best mate. It didn’t sound like it was going to be a big affair and Peter found himself wondering who would go from the firm. The partners would all attend and most of Ben’s team of course. But would the PAs go too? Would Peter be the only person who wasn’t there? For a mad moment he wondered if he
should
go, before dismissing it out of hand. If Ben’s friends saw him, they’d tear him limb from limb. And who could blame them? And yet a big part of Peter wanted to be there. To say goodbye. To say sorry.

He’d thought about writing to Ben’s fiancée, but Sarah had talked him out of it. She was right of course. In a fit of pique, he’d defied her and sat down to write to Jennie – but he hadn’t managed a single word. All the things he wanted to say – I didn’t want to do it, I wish I could turn back the clock – all sounded so empty and pointless. What he wanted, what he felt didn’t matter to her. What mattered to her was the fact that he’d stabbed her fiancé in the face to save his own skin.

Had it been worth it? Peter wasn’t sure any more. After the adrenalin and shock had worn off, he’d felt nothing but a crushing emptiness, as if he’d lost his sense of taste, smell, touch, and was now merely existing rather than living.

What was he going to do with his life now? Could he go back to work? Would he be accepted? Anything would be better than going slowly crazy at home.

If only Ben had pulled the trigger. He could have done. He’d had the time. Did he hesitate because he was a chicken or because he was moral? If he’d pulled the trigger then it would be
him
drowning in a sea of guilt, whilst Peter would be safe and sound under the ground.

Selfish bastard.

38

Everybody has to draw the line some time. And for Jake that time was now. This was not pleasant or fun or even professional any more, it was a nasty situation that was getting out of control. He’d been with a client when she turned up, but she didn’t seem to care. She had sat outside his flat, face turned to the floor, whilst Jake finished his session. But the mood had been well and truly broken and he’d had to promise his disgruntled client a free session just to get him out of the door. This kind of thing wasn’t good for business – the S&M scene on the south coast is a small world and word soon gets around.

She apologized, but she didn’t mean it. She was incoherent and emotional. Jake wondered if she’d been drinking and asked her as much. She didn’t like that, reminding him that he was a dominator not a doctor. He’d let that one go, didn’t want to provoke her, and suggested a short, mild session today as a way of calming things down. Then perhaps they could talk.

But she wasn’t having any of that. She wanted a full one-hour, no-holds-barred session. She wanted as much pain as he could muster. More than that she wanted abuse – she wanted him to tell her that she was evil and ugly, a useless piece of shit, who should be killed or worse. She wanted him to
destroy
her.

When he refused she got angry, but he had to be honest. Some people he would have happily degraded – whatever floats your boat – but not her. It was not just that he liked her, it was also that he knew instinctively that this wasn’t what she needed. He’d often wondered if she took therapy elsewhere – if she didn’t he was tempted to suggest it. Rather than escalating their sessions to yet another level of extremity, Jake felt it was time to draw a line and suggest some complementary avenues for her to explore.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Helen exploded. ‘How dare you tell me what to do?’

Jake was taken aback by the force of the explosion.

‘It’s just a suggestion and if it’s not for you that’s fine. But I don’t feel comfortable going in this dir—’

‘You don’t feel
comfortable
! You’re a bloody whore, for God’s sake. You’re comfortable with whatever I pay you to do.’

She was marching towards him and for a moment, Jake thought she was going to attack him, such was the level of her fury. He always had a Taser tucked away close by but he’d never had to use it. How ironic would it be if he had to use it now on
her
? But thankfully, just as Jake was edging towards it, she turned on her heel and marched out of the flat, slamming the door fiercely behind her.

Jake fought the urge to go after her. They weren’t friends, she was just a client. He’d crossed that line before and lived to regret it. Best cut her off now and not look back. He had liked her but hadn’t asked to be abused. He was too long in the tooth to put up with that. With a sigh he dropped the blinds and shut her out of his life for good.

39

Helen punched her speed up to 100 mph and roared into the fast lane. It was late now and the ring road was virtually empty. She revelled in the freedom, gunning the throttle harder and harder. The speed was soothing – for a moment the awful, heart-breaking events of the last few days slipped from her mind.

Only a couple of miles to go. The thought of what lay ahead focused her. She had a job to do. And she had to do it well – lives hung in the balance. Three of the victims, Ben, Marie and Annie, had been known personally to her. Surely that was too much of a coincidence. Was the fact that she knew them important? Or was there something in their past traumas that had made them worthy of the killer’s attention?

Amy was the stumbling block. Helen had never met her and as far as she was aware Amy had no criminal record. Same went for Sam. So if the connection to Helen was important, why had
they
been chosen? It was late and Amy’s mother wouldn’t thank her for calling round with more questions, but there was no other way.

Her father opened the door, primed to deliver a volley of abuse. Emilia Garanita and her colleagues had been a constant presence in their lives since Amy had returned home and the Andersons were reaching breaking point. On seeing it was Helen, he swallowed the abuse and let her inside.

She was ushered into the living room and made to wait whilst Diane Anderson went to fetch her daughter from her bedroom. Helen scanned the walls, looking for inspiration. A handful of happy family photos – mum, dad and precious daughter – stared back at her, mocking her ignorance.

Amy was the picture of truculence, clearly unhappy to be forced back into her nightmare. She had actually been asleep – a rare occurrence – and Helen had to work very hard to warm her up. Slowly, as Amy came to realize that maybe she wasn’t being cast as the bad guy, she started to rally, answering Helen’s questions honestly and openly. Amy had never been in trouble with the cops and had certainly never met Helen before. Had Sam ever got into trouble? Not that she knew of. He wanted to be a lawyer and was always very clear that one brush with the law could put paid to his chosen career. Some people had thought he was a bit dull as a result, but Amy had valued his solidity and reliability. He had always been there for her – until she had shot him in the back.

Amy was clamming up again – her guilt once more forcing its way into her consciousness, dragging her down to the bottom again. Her mother wanted to accompany her to her bedroom, but Helen insisted she and her husband stay to answer her questions. Diane Anderson was terse in her response and for once Helen’s patience snapped, threatening her with arrest unless she sat down and did as she was told. She complied and for the next thirty minutes Helen peppered the couple with questions about their lives. Had they ever been in trouble with the law? Had they ever met Helen before in any capacity? But with the exception of a drink-driving offence by the husband, Richard, three years ago, there was nothing. What about a connection to Ben? Or Anna and Marie? Helen probed but she knew it was hopeless – they came from completely different backgrounds and moved in different worlds.

Richard Anderson showed her out. She had turned up late at night and blotted her copybook with them for no tangible gain. There must be a connection – Helen was sure of that – but for now it remained as elusive as ever.

40

She was locking up her bike in the station car park when she heard footsteps coming up behind her. She flinched when she felt an arm on her shoulder, but there was no need, she sensed who it was.