‘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.
Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen. And still no sign. In and out of the garages and bodyshops. The supermarkets and minicab offices. But everywhere the same – a look at the photo and a polite shake of the head.
Then a disturbance in the street. Calls for help. A woman lying prostrate on the ground. Charlie covered the distance in seconds to find a young woman in a very bad way. Crazed eyes, blood streaming from cuts on her face. But nothing to do with her. A pissed-up local girl on the receiving end of her violent boyfriend’s displeasure. As uniform led the protesting offender away, Charlie returned to the hunt.
Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. And still radio silence. Charlie cursed her luck. What was it with this woman that she could disappear into thin air? She was sure Reeves wasn’t lying to her about the location – she’d had to wrench the information out of her – so where the hell was she? She’d give it another thirty minutes, maybe more. Something had to turn up.
It started to rain. Gently at first, then big heavy drops, then a sudden attack of hail. As the ice bounced off Charlie’s sodden hair, she cursed her luck. But things were about to get a lot worse.
‘Call off the search.’
Charlie spun round. Helen had arrived. And she didn’t look happy.
They didn’t speak on their way back to the police station. No explanation about why the search had been called off, nor the expected admonishment for losing the prime suspect (twice). Charlie didn’t know what was going on and she didn’t like it. For the first time in her life she realized what it felt like to be picked up by the police. To be a suspect. Charlie desperately wanted to talk, to dispel her nervousness and find out what was going on. But that clearly wasn’t an option. So she sat and suffered in silence imagining a thousand dark scenarios.
They walked through the nick in silence. Helen commandeered an interview room and switched off her mobile. The two women stared at each other.