Eeny Meeny (17 page)

‘But why?’

‘Just don’t.’

And with that Helen was gone. On the way down, she kicked herself for her foolishness. Her first instinct was right – she should never have come here.

55

Charlie Brooks yawned and stretched out her arms. Her joints cracked loudly – she’d been sat in the same position for too long. She made a decision to move around more frequently, to stretch, exercise … then promptly banged her head on the low metal roof.

Charlie hated surveillance. The enclosed space, the junk food diet and the proximity to male officers who either fancied her, had bad personal hygiene, or both. Sometimes it brought results, but one always had the sense that the fun, the real policing, was happening elsewhere. Couldn’t Helen have found some other monkey for this job? Her mood sank further as she looked across at DC Grounds, who was unselfconsciously picking a spot.

Charlie had the distinct impression she was being punished – though what for she couldn’t say. Helen had definitely been ‘off’ with her recently. On several occasions Charlie had been tempted to ask her straight out what was wrong, only to pull back at the last second, concerned that she would come across as paranoid. Yet the feeling remained. Somehow she had irked Helen and perhaps the surveillance job on Mickery’s house was her penance.

Hannah Mickery had hardly left the house since her release from custody. A couple of trips to the grocery store, the newsagent’s, but little more. She hadn’t used her landline at all and her mobile calls had been brief and mundane. Clearly she wasn’t going to let the cloud of suspicion disrupt her working life, hence the visit from a client. The pair had been closeted away for an hour now – Charlie couldn’t help wondering what hang-up, insecurity or peccadillo was being discussed.

Then suddenly there was movement. Charlie sat bolt upright and swung her camera into position. Only to be disappointed. It was just the client leaving her session, sheltering herself from the pelting rain with her ‘cheerful’ yellow umbrella. Charlie sat back down, disgruntled, and watched her go.

You’d have to be a real mentalist to wear that outfit, Charlie thought uncharitably. The purple beret and the red mac – did she think she’d just stepped out of a Prince video? And the heels. They were strippers’ heels, pure and simp—

Which is when Charlie noticed that the woman who’d just left the house wasn’t wearing heels. She was wearing flats.

Charlie was out of the van in a flash, ordering Grounds to the house as she set off after the client. Padding fast but quietly she gained on the woman, but then, with only forty yards to go, the woman half turned. It was only a glimpse but enough for Charlie to know for certain that this was Mickery dressed in her client’s clothes. Mickery immediately broke into a sprint and Charlie gave chase – thoughts of what Helen would say if she lost her powering her forward.

Charlie thought the pursuit would be easy, but Mickery was good. She darted across the busy street without hesitation, somehow finding a path through the speeding traffic. Charlie raced after her, determined not to be beaten, but the braking cars impeded her at every turn.

They ducked down a side street. The distance between them was now about a hundred yards and with the absence of human traffic on this quiet road Charlie began to gain on her quarry. Eighty yards, sixty yards, fifty. Closer and closer.

The busy street loomed ahead. Hannah Mickery reached it first and launched herself across it. The beret had by now blown off and her long auburn hair trailed behind her. She reached the other side and without hesitation dived into the welcoming entrance of Marlands Shopping Centre. Charlie was seconds behind.

A sea of schoolchildren, bored and flirty. A security man picking his teeth. A couple of gawky lads in Saints shirts. But no sign of Mickery.

Then a flash of auburn. On the far escalator. Charlie set off in pursuit once more, hurdling potted plants and toddlers as she cranked up her speed. Up, up, up she sprinted – her lungs burning with the exertion. Barging a middle-aged dawdler out the way, Charlie burst on to the mezzanine level.

The red coat. Vanishing into Topshop. No way out from there. Charlie sprinted inside, warrant card already on display as the security guards started to rouse themselves. Finally Charlie would be able to look Helen in the eye – a juicy prize to deliver to her.

Except. This was the wrong red coat. Right shade, wrong wearer. A singleton shopping for a date and somewhat surprised to find herself being manhandled by a sweating female DC.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Shit!’ Charlie was already moving away from her startled victim. She collared the nearest security guard.

‘Did you see a woman in a red coat run past here? Did ANYONE see a woman in a red coat?’

Charlie looked at the sea of blank faces, knowing already that it was hopeless.

Mickery had got away.

56

They hadn’t moved for days now. They were beaten, crushed with despair. Starvation would be their release – it was plain that there would be no escape.

Caroline had been waif-like to begin with. Now she looked like a famine victim, her ribs threatening to break through her skin at any point. Martina was the more muscular of the two and somehow despite day after day of starvation, she struggled to her feet now.

‘Let’s try again.’

Martina tried to inject energy and hope into her voice, but Caroline just groaned.

‘Please, Caroline, we have to try again.’

Now Caroline raised her head to see if Martina was serious. It was hopeless, so why torture themselves? The door hadn’t yielded an inch despite their pounding. Their shoulders were bruised, their nails broken. There was nothing more they could do.

‘Someone might hear us.’

‘There’s nobody out there.’

‘We have to try. Please, Caroline, I’m not ready to die yet.’

A long pause, then slowly, reluctantly Caroline dragged her weary body off the ground. Despair was easier than hope. Hope was cruel – it promised Caroline things she feared she’d never experience again: love, warmth, comfort, happiness. None of these things were possible – they were dreams – whilst she was buried alive in this tomb. All Caroline wanted now was to be left alone to her despair and if charging the door for a few pointless minutes would shut Martina up then so be it.

Abandoning herself, she ran full pelt at the door, crashing into it. The pain was intense – a searing burning sensation in her shoulder that slowly transmuted to a sadistic dull ache. She turned, angry.

‘Aren’t you going to help m—’

Her voice gave out when she saw Martina pointing the gun at her. She’d been tricked. That devious bitch had tricked her.

‘I’m really sorry,’ muttered Martina, then she pulled the trigger, closing her eyes so as not to see the horror. The gunshot reverberated around the brick chamber.

But no scream came. No sound of flesh tearing. Just the dull thunk of the bullet burying itself in the door. She had missed.

She pulled the trigger again and again, but she knew there had only been one bullet in it. One shot at salvation.

Caroline flew through the air, knocking Martina to the ground. They struggled fiercely in the dirt, but Martina was on the back foot and soon Caroline was on top. Her knees pressed down heavily on Martina’s chest, then spread to pinion her arms. And now Caroline’s bloody, raw fingers were wrapping themselves around Martina’s throat.

She was wild, unhinged. But she was triumphant. And she shouted and screamed for joy as she choked the life out of the young prostitute.

She had won.

57

‘Where is she?’ Charlie shouted. Martha Reeves sat calmly on the living room chair, dressed in one of Mickery’s dressing gowns. Despite staring down the barrel of a police charge, she seemed utterly unrepentant. Her point of view seemed to be that the police had got it wrong, were unfairly harassing an innocent woman, so if she could help her out, why not?

‘She’s under investigation on suspicion of
murder
. And what you’ve done makes you an accessory. Do you know what you get for that? Ten years. Ten years ducking the hairy Marys in Holloway.’

Cold, naked defiance.

‘What do you come here for anyway?’

‘Oh come off it, surely you don’t ex—’

‘What are you? A pervert? An addict? What little peccadillo needs ironing out so bad that you’ll pay £300 an hour to this quack?’

DC Grounds chose this moment to step outside. He didn’t like scenes and Brooks seemed to be going way over the top. For whose benefit he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was about, it wouldn’t get them anywhere, so he took the opportunity to radio in – see if anyone else had had any luck.

The call had gone out, all available units had scrambled to the area, but there’d been no sign of Mickery. An eagle-eyed Community Support Officer had found a discarded red coat in a wheelie bin just outside Marlands Shopping Centre, but that was all. She had vanished into thin air. Cursing, Grounds headed back into the house.

‘Is she allowed to do this?’ Martha barked at Grounds as he entered. Charlie was busy rifling through her handbag.

‘Yes, sirree. When she’s like this, it’s best just to sit it out.’

Both women scowled at him. Mobile phone, lipstick, BlackBerry, a condom, tissues, keys on a ring with smiley family scene encased in cheap plastic, sweets, another condom …

‘Married?’

For the first time a moment’s hesitation from Martha. But Charlie was already scrolling through the Contacts list on Martha’s phone.

‘Adam? No? Chris, then? Colin? David? Graham? Let’s try Graham …’

And she pressed the Ring button …

‘Tom. His name is … Tom.’

Charlie clicked off.

‘Know you’re here, does he?’

Martha looked at her shoes.

‘Thought not. Right let’s get him to pick you up and take you ho—’

‘Enough.’

‘It’s ringing.’

‘I said ENOUGH!’

‘Come on, Tom, pick up!’

‘The Valley.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘She said she was going to … the Valley.’

By now Tom’s confused voice could just be heard from the mouthpiece but Charlie turned the phone off.

‘Continue.’

‘I don’t know where exactly – but she said she was going to Bevois Valley and that she would be straight there and back. Wouldn’t be gone more than an hour.’

Charlie was out the door and running to her car. Grounds might disapprove of her methods, but nobody could say they weren’t effective. The chase was back on now and heading towards its climax. Mickery had gone to Bevois Valley – home to Empress Road, Southampton’s notorious red-light district.

58

Caroline was sinking deeper and deeper into Hell. And the lifeless corpse of Martina was her personal demon leading the way. However much Caroline shut her eyes, turned her back, screamed, shouted, wept and wailed, the sound of Martina’s silent accusation was impossible to block out.

Worse was the sound of laughter. The laughter of the evil bitch who had set this all up. She had made them a
promise.
She had said that if one of them … Caroline wept some more, but they were dry tears now. There was nothing more to give.

The whole thing had been a con. The woman was long gone. And Caroline? Caroline had killed a girl. An innocent girl and what was her reward? Death.

Perhaps she should kill herself? A weird elation punched through her. She stalked around the cellar looking for a means to her end. She could hang herself with Martina’s clothes, except … there was nothing to hang from. The ceiling was smooth, the room unfurnished. There were no sharp edges and nothing to fashion into a weapon. Crazily, she soon found herself clawing at the bullet hole – come out, you bastard! – before giving up and descending once more into despair.

Then without warning a key turned in the lock and the door swung open.

‘Well done, Caroline.’

She could hear her, but she couldn’t see her. For a moment, Caroline was frozen to the spot. Her tormentor had reappeared and fear gripped her completely.

But nothing happened. Was the woman still there? It didn’t look like it and she couldn’t hear her. Suddenly Caroline was on her feet and heading to the door. If the woman was still there, she’d wring her bloody neck. Bring it on! But then suddenly in the midst of her charge to freedom, Caroline stopped. And turned.

Martina. There she was, lifeless and still. Two of them had arrived, now only one was leaving. Caroline stood on the threshold. Whilst she remained inside she was a victim. Once she stepped outside, she was a murderer.

But what choice did she have? To live she must embrace her crime. So she stumbled through the doorway.

She was at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Light poured down from above – through some sort of trapdoor – temporarily blinding her. Once more, she hesitated. Was her abductor waiting above? Slowly, steadily, she climbed the creaking stairs. She emerged into a sea of brightness.

She was alone. Alone in the body of a decaying house. A big one. Unloved and unwanted, just as Caroline had always been. And yet right at this moment, she loved this house. Its light, its emptiness, her liberty. She could walk in any direction, without fear, without compulsion. She was once more master of her fate.

She started to snigger. Before long she was howling with laughter – wild, raucous, crazy laughter. She had survived!

Still laughing, she marched over to the front door. Wrenching it open, she struggled up the short garden path and through the gate, back on to the bustling city streets.

59

Charlie made it to Bevois Valley in fifteen minutes flat. They could have done it in ten with the blues and twos on, but that was out of the question. They didn’t want to spook Mickery. DC Grounds had been left to babysit a deeply pissed-off Martha Reeves – they couldn’t discount the possibility that she would contact Mickery to warn her.

A description had gone out to uniform on the beat and Charlie immediately set about coordinating the efforts. Bevois Valley is a shabby collection of low-rent supermarkets, industrial estates and depots. It’s a small place and many of the local cops are on nodding terms with the hookers and junkies who also make it their home, taking advantage of the numerous squats and abandoned houses that disfigure the streets. News can travel surprisingly fast in this enclosed community and the word was out. A good tipoff now could break the case. Could they catch Mickery in the act? Charlie felt her pulse quicken – the thrill of the chase never failed to get her heart racing. But there was more this time. This was personal – she wouldn’t let Mickery escape her twice.