45
Hannah Mickery was in the middle of preparing a dinner party when Helen arrived on her doorstep. She was every bit as respectable and attractive as she looked on her website. A good example of what money can do for you. The bottles of Clos Vougeot that had been decanted in anticipation of her guests’ arrival reinforced the overall feeling of wealth.
She had so much and Helen would have thought she was extremely eligible. Yet she lived alone. This was the first curious thing that struck Helen. Later, in the interrogation room, Hannah Mickery insisted it was because of her work. That she gave so much to her clients that she seldom had time for socializing or dating. The dinner party that Helen had ruined had already been postponed twice because of her unpredictable job. The feeling of resentment towards Helen for the intrusion snapped sharp in the room.
She had her lawyer flanking her. He was expensive too. Mickery always waited for him to intervene and only if he didn’t would she answer the question. They made a strong, considered, credible team. They’d be hard to discredit if they ever got this to trial.
She insisted that she’d only been at the site of Peter’s demise because of her link with Ben. She was a therapist who had spent time with Ben after the horrendous events of his childhood. Murder was the worst type of case, worse even than suicide – that at least has a tragic dimension in its sheer futility and desperation. But how do you coach a young man through his father’s destruction of their family? How do you deal with the fact that someone you loved has ripped your life apart and left you all alone in the world?
Hannah felt she made progress with the young Ben – or James as he was then. And when he’d stopped visiting her three years later, he was kind of back on his feet. Functioning.
‘Did you stay in touch?’ Helen interjected, already irritated by the fond tone of Hannah’s recollections.
‘No, but I kept up to speed with his life. Through Facebook and the like.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I liked him. I wanted him to survive. I was thrilled when I heard he was getting married.’
‘And how did you feel when you “discovered” that he’d been murdered?’
‘I was devastated. Obviously.’
Said without feeling, Helen felt.
‘And when I heard from a friend that his killer had committed suicide, I… well, I couldn’t believe it.’
‘So you had to see it with your own eyes.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. It’s not very nice, not very laudable, but I did want to see.’
‘Is it true that you’d offered your services to Peter Brightston after his escape from captivity?’
There was a pause. A sideways glance at her lawyer, and then a ‘Yes’.
‘Despite the fact that he’d killed your friend Ben?’
‘Peter was clearly in a bad way. And he’d been released without char-’
‘How did you know he was in a bad way? Did you see him after his release?’
A longer pause this time. A really long one, then:
‘I went to his house once. I rang the bell and asked to see him. I offered my services but he wasn’t interested.’
‘How did you know where he lived?’
‘It wasn’t hard to work it out. From what they said in the papers.’
‘So you stalked him to his house?’
‘I’m not sure I like that term, Inspector,’ her lawyer intervened.
‘My apologies, Sandy. I had no idea you were so sensitive. How long did you treat Diane Anderson for?’ Helen said, returning her attention to the suspect.
‘A couple of months. I’d been recommended to her by a colleague. Her best friend had died very suddenly and she needed help. But in truth her heart wasn’t in it. I think she felt seeing a therapist was “weak”.’
‘Did you meet Amy during that time?’
‘No. Though I was obviously aware of her.’
‘So there’s no reason why Amy would recognize you?’
‘Inspector…’ her lawyer intervened. He could see where that was heading. But Helen made her answer the question anyway.
‘No, we’d never met.’
They moved on to alibis. Hannah was at home on the night of Amy’s abduction – no witness as she was working alone on her paperwork – but claimed to have been with a client when Ben went missing. She didn’t have a secretary or assistant, so that one would have to be confirmed or denied by her client.
‘Tell me about Marie Storey.’
They hadn’t been expecting that one.
‘You treated her a few years ago, following the suicide of her husband.’
Mark had found this one. Funny how the team was slowly coming together on this case. More discussions with the lawyer, then:
‘I was assigned her case by Hampshire Social Services. Her husband had killed himself with bleach as I recall. Couldn’t cope with the cards life had dealt him. The mother, Marie, was stronger though. Had to be for Anna.’
‘You remember their names well.’
‘I’ve a good memory.’
Helen let that sit.
‘Have you seen them recently?’
‘No.’
‘Spoken to them?’
‘No. I read about their deaths obviously. I assumed in the end that it had got too much for Marie. The papers were pretty vague on the details.’
‘Why did you stop treating her?’
‘Cutbacks at the Health Trust. It wasn’t my decision.’
‘How do you view your clients? As just that – clients? Or as patients? Friends?’
‘I view them as clients. People I can help.’
‘Do you ever find that you dislike them?’
‘Never. They can be frustrating, but that’s to be expected.’
‘You really never find yourself disliking their weakness, their self-pity, their “woe is me” act?’
‘Never.’
She parried well – like a professional – and shortly afterwards her lawyer called time on the interview. They’d had to let her go. Had nothing to charge her with. But Helen didn’t mind. During the time she’d been interviewing Hannah, Mark had applied for and got a search warrant for her house and office. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
One female suspect. With links to three very different victims. Someone who knew them – and their vulnerabilities – intimately. Now all they needed was proof. For the first time since the investigation started, Helen sensed that they were finally getting somewhere.
46
It was a strange sort of celebration. Her clutching a J2O and him nursing a slowly warming tonic. Not very rock ’n’ roll. But it felt good nevertheless. Neither had ever confronted a case like this before. Multiple murders were rare and when they happened tended to be spree killings. An explosion of anger that destroyed all but died out quickly. The level of care and planning that had gone into these murders was something else. Although no copper would ever admit it, these sorts of crimes were deeply unnerving. They made you feel that your experience counted for nothing, that your instincts were wrong, your training pitifully inadequate. These sorts of crimes broke the system that kept your faith intact.
But now they had a lead. Nothing cut-and-dried yet, but a copper is always happy when they have a strong scent. Something – or someone – to prosecute. Mark watched his superior as she chatted animatedly about the case. She’d always been attractive, but now there was something more. A warmth, a sense of optimism and hope, which was usually hidden from view. It was her smile that was the revelation. Seldom seen, but not easily forgotten.
He could sense his growing attraction to her and was determined to resist it. He would never again let any woman have that kind of hold over him. And yet he wanted to penetrate her armour and find out more about her. What did she dream of when she was little? Was she popular? Was she rich? Did the boys like her?
‘Did you grow up round here?’
A poor opener, but Mark had never been good at chat. She shook her head.
‘Sarf London. Can’t you tell?’