Anger surged in her heart and Caroline knew exactly why she’d never got back in touch. Because she did blame them. For not noticing. For not protecting her. She was still furious at their neglect and that was why she was alone in the world. That was why there was no one looking for her now. Did she or Martina have anything – or anyone – to live for? How close was Martina to her sister? She felt like asking her but what was the point. It wasn’t a competition.
Was it?
54
Predictably Detective Superintendent Whittaker had not taken the news well.
‘What the fuck are you telling me? That a cop gave her this?’
The macabre nature of the killings had required an absolute information lockdown. The Evening News and a couple of the national newspapers had picked up on the spike in local deaths and were scratching around for more, but none had yet divined the unseen puppeteer orchestrating these terrible crimes. Forensics and other ancillary staff were unaware of the deadly ultimatum delivered to the victims. Access to that information – the phones, the interview footage and transcripts – had been kept very tight. Obviously Whittaker and Helen knew, as did Mark and Charlie and a couple of other core team officers, but that was pretty much it. So unless a data officer had been tipped off as to their content, or had stumbled on it accidentally, then they would have to look close to home to find the source of the leak. Whittaker didn’t beat about the bush. Every member of the team would have to be investigated for evidence of possible corruption or collusion. It must be done dispassionately and it must be done quickly.
Helen made quick progress. These days there were no interview tapes or mini-discs – all that obsolete stuff was long gone. The interview footage was now recorded straight on to a secure digital network. Once the interview was completed, the digital file was then encrypted and uploaded to their secure server. Stored recordings and transcriptions could only be accessed by approved users. There was only one source – the server – and anyone accessing it would leave a trace.
The interview footage had been viewed innumerable times as part of the enquiry and a long list of these viewings scrolled out as Helen delved into the search history. But on only three occasions had the actual footage been downloaded or burned on to disc or memory stick. And for two of those, Helen had been present – moreover, she still had the downloads in her possession. Which left one unauthorized download. It was impossible to cover your tracks with these things without destroying the whole server and there it was in black and white: ‘Weds 11th January 4.15 p.m.’
It was unlikely to have been the data officers as they were involved in industrial action that day, but perhaps that’s why the thief chose that day in particular. Whittaker was on leave, whilst Helen had been at the forensics lab all afternoon. The junior team officers had been doing house-to-house that day (Helen would have to double-check that), so that left two officers in the know who were in the building and had access to the secure server: Mark and Charlie.
Helen was kicking herself. She should have cancelled her dinner with Mark, feigned some excuse, but he’d caught her on the hop. She couldn’t back out of their dinner without offending him or acting in a way that would have aroused his suspicions, so she’d gone along with it. He’d joked with her about the effort he’d gone to to impress her, which is why they were now tucking into prawn bucatini in virtual silence. Helen was fully aware of Mark’s disappointment and awkwardness – his vision of a night of passionate lovemaking in tatters – but it was impossible to stop thinking about it. Unless Helen was completely off beam, it was probable that either Charlie or Mark had grossly betrayed the team and in the process opened up their investigation to an outsider. If a corrupt officer wanted money, they’d leak to the press. So this had to be something else. Blackmail. Sex. Or something more sinister.
Helen was torn in two. She wanted to be upfront with him but to do so would be to put her own neck on the line. This was now an internal investigation and if she shared information with a ‘suspect’ then she would be corrupt too. So she bit her tongue and made polite conversation.
They gave up on the meal quite quickly and moved into the living room. Helen wandered over to the mantelpiece. The pictures of the happy family and the ex-wife were long gone. All that remained were innumerable pictures of a little girl, with a cute blonde bob and a big smile.
‘That’s Elsie.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Seven. Lives with her mother. Not far away.’
But clearly too far away for Mark’s liking. Helen asked some more interested questions and Mark responded as only a proud parent can. A history of Elsie’s achievements and interests. Anecdotes about her idiosyncrasies and daftness. It was hard to listen to – his desolation at being apart from his daughter was so evident. A year back he was a successful copper, with a loving wife and a little angel who had eyes only for him. Now he’d lost everything to another man – his wife’s lover, Stephen. It was their affair which had ended the marriage and yet it was Mark who was out in the cold. He had been hurt – deeply, deeply hurt – by someone who had been cavalier about their marriage vows. She had ended up with the whole deal. He’d ended up with a rented flat and visits every other weekend.
Helen did her best to comfort him, but all the while a little voice inside her was telling her to leave. To get away from this guy who was obviously falling for her. Eventually, Mark calmed down. Thanking her for listening to his ramblings, he ran his hand across her cheek – a tender, wordless thank you. Then he tried to kiss her.
Helen found herself walking towards the front door. Mark ran after her, apologizing. As she opened the door to leave, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back. Helen spun away as if burned.
‘Please, Helen, if I’ve offended you…’ Mark stuttered.
‘Don’t beg, Mark. You’re better than that.’
‘I don’t understand what’s going on here.’
‘Nothing’s going on here.’
‘I thought that you and I… that we…’
‘You thought wrong. We had sex. That’s all.’
‘Am I being dumped?’
‘Don’t be so childish.’
‘Well, what then? I thought you liked me.’
Helen paused, trying to choose her words carefully.
‘Mark, I’m only going to say this once, so please listen. Do not fall in love with me, ok? I don’t want it and neither do you.’
‘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.