The more Helen thought about it the more it made sense. She was probably already drafting an authoritative account of the killings, complete with psychological insights into the killer’s mindset and bona fide evidence from the police investigation. Her lucky connection with two of the victims had put her on the scent, but she was an ambitious woman and wanted more. When had she made her first approach to Mark? And why him? And where did she get the brass neck to bribe a serving officer to give her chapter and verse on the continuing investigation? If it could ever be shown that her corrupting influence had hampered police attempts to catch the killer, then she would be looking at jail time. That at least was some consolation, Helen thought grimly.
With Hannah cooling her heels in a cell, Helen had a window in which to act. But she would have to do it carefully and by the book. So her first stop was to see Whittaker. As she outlined her case, he sat there grim-faced. They had to take Mark off the investigation obviously, but could they do that without arousing his and others’ suspicions? No – of course not. So they would have to suspend him and charge him. He might of course then go straight to the press out of revenge and a desire for profit. But Whittaker thought that a healthy payoff, perhaps even the retention of his police pension and service payments, might induce him to keep quiet. It had worked before and Mark hardly came from a rich background. Whilst it stuck in Helen’s craw to think about rewarding Mark’s treachery in this way, Whittaker was more of a pragmatist.
‘Do you want me to handle it?’ he asked.
‘No, I’ll do it.’
‘It’s customary for the senior officer to take the lead when disciplining -’
‘Yes, I know and I understand why that’s the case, but I need to know what he’s leaked and to whom. I think I’ve got more chance of getting that if I tackle him alone.’
Whittaker eyeballed her.
‘Do you have some special kind of pull on him?’
‘No, but he respects me,’ Helen said quickly. ‘He knows I don’t bullshit and that if I offer him a deal that it’ll be genuine and offered in good faith.’
Whittaker seemed appeased by that. So Helen departed. She’d never been so glad to get out of his office. Then again, that was the easy bit. The hard part would be facing Mark.
Helen climbed into her car and pulled the door shut behind her. For a moment, the sound of the world with all its cares was muffled. A moment’s peace from a world that kept raining stones on her. Why had she allowed Mark to get so close to her? Why had she chosen him as her sounding board, when he was obviously leaking every last detail of her investigation. She winced as she remembered their chats in the pub, in the incident room, rehearsing theories, considering suspects. Who knows, perhaps there was some hideous caricature of her – the bumbling, ineffectual copper – already taking shape in Mickery’s book. A brilliant phantom of a killer, pursued haplessly by ignorant cops.
Helen cried out in pain and looked down to see her fingernails dug into her palm. She had drawn blood in her frustration and anger. Cursing her stupidity, she tried to regain her focus. Now was not the time to be distracted by what might be. No point fighting imaginary battles. She’d done enough of that in the past. Now it was time to be calm, strong and decisive. Now was the time to act.
65
His first feeling was one of relief. Mark had been trying to get hold of Helen all day to tell her about the developments re Martina, without success. Now here she was, leaning against his front door. Satisfaction surged to something more – hope? excitement? – as she had come back to him here, rather than collaring him in the office. Perhaps she liked to be mysterious, hot and cold, hard to handle. But something in her expression told him this was not the case.
She said nothing as he opened the door and let her in. There was nothing for it but to play ball. See how bad things really were. So he pulled up a chair and sat down to face her. Who was going to make the first move?
‘This may be the last time we meet like this. We have been friends and more, so let’s not scream or shout or accuse or lie or make this any more painful than it has to be.’
As she spoke, Helen watched Mark closely, beadily alive to his reaction.
‘You’ve betrayed us, Mark. There’s no other way of saying it. You’ve betrayed me, the team, and the police force that made you what you are. Worse than that, you’ve betrayed the innocent men and women who’ve been murdered by this evil little -’
‘I don’t understand -’
‘I’ve spoken to Whittaker,’ Helen interrupted, ‘so there’s no point trying to lie your way out of it. We are about to begin an official procedure that will in all probability end in your expulsion from the police force. Your desk has been cleared, you won’t be allowed access to any restricted areas and I am required to retain your warrant card once this discussion is over.’
Mark stared at her.
‘You’ve seen others go through it, you know how nasty it can be. But you can make it easy on yourself, Mark. I don’t think you’re evil, I don’t think you’re rotten inside and I’m sure there must be reasons – good reasons – why you would do something so awful. If you are prepared to tell me those reasons fully and cooperate in every way I ask, then there is a deal to be done here. You don’t need to come out of this with nothing.’
A long silence, then:
‘Why here?’
Mark’s response took Helen by surprise. No passionate denial, just a move in the game. It was said with real bitterness, but there was something else going on here. What was his angle?
‘Why come here to tell me… this?’ The last word was spat out. A challenge. Helen eyed him up and then responded:
‘Because I want to hear it for myself before anyone else does. I want you to tell me why you did it, before you have to say it on tape. I want you to tell me.’
Her voice suddenly caught with emotion – her real sense of personal betrayal finally punching through. Mark just stared at her. He looked confounded, as if she were speaking Greek.
‘What do you think I’ve done, Helen?’ His tone was neutral, but it sounded mocking.
‘Don’t do this, Mark. Even now, you’re better than this.’
‘Tell me. Tell me what I’ve done.’
Helen’s face hardened as her anger returned. Why had she ever allowed this arrogant bastard to get close to her?
‘You gave Mickery our investigation. You sold us out.’
There – finally it was on the table.
‘And I want to know why.’
‘Fuck you.’
Helen smirked, though she didn’t really know why. A flash of anger from Mark and he was on his feet, as if he was going to come towards her. Helen flinched, but Mark had already turned away and now paced the room in silence. Helen had never considered that he might react violently, might be dangerous. How messed up was this guy? Perhaps she didn’t know him at all.
When Mark spoke he was plainly fighting hard to restrain his anger.
‘What makes you think that I would do that?’
‘Because there’s no one else, Mark.’
‘You had access, Whittaker, Charlie, the techies…’
‘Only Charlie and you were in the station when it was taken. The techies were on strike, Whittaker was on leave and I was out in the field.’
‘So it has to be me? What about Charlie? Have you ever thought that it might be -’
‘It’s not her.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because she has an alibi. And because she looked me in the eye and told me it wasn’t her. Why haven’t you done that, Mark? Instead of wriggling on the line, why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t do it?’
A brief pause, then:
‘Because you wouldn’t believe me.’