82
Hannah Mickery had never been a nail-biter. But her fingers were bitten to the quick now. It was ironic really. A lot of her work had been turning hair-pullers and nail-biters into rational, stable human beings. But now look at her. A gibbering wreck, all sense of self-control eroded by her terrible ordeal.
Where was Grace? This waiting was slow torture. When she’d made the deal with her abductor it had all been so simple. She would do as she was told and then she would be free. Amusing to think that in the brief heady moments after the deal she’d had a flash vision of a life beyond fear and despair. A life in which she could put her ordeal, and more specifically her recovery from it, to good use. To help others. To help herself.
Now that all seemed like arrant nonsense. A feeble flight of fancy and the product of a disordered mind. Perhaps she wouldn’t get to see Grace? Perhaps she would fail? The torture wasn’t over yet.
Then suddenly Grace was in the room. Mickery was filled with elation, even though Grace was visibly startled by her appearance. She was trying to do her sympathetic face, but Mickery felt like an exotic and repulsive creature being gawped at in the reptile house.
Helen for her part was stunned by what she saw. Mickery, cool as a cucumber in previous interviews, looked like one of the crazy ladies you see every day at the soup kitchens. Homeless women who’ve been so battered by life that they look completely unhinged.
‘I don’t want her here,’ Mickery snapped, casting an accusing glance at Charlie.
‘DC Brooks needs to be here as a matter of proced-’
‘She can’t be here. Please.’
Now there was a plaintive tone to her request and tears were threatening. Her whole body seemed to be shaking. With a nod from Helen, Charlie quit the room.
‘What happened to you, Hannah? Are you able to tell me?’
‘You know what happened to me.’
‘I can guess, but I want to hear it from you.’
Mickery shook her head and looked at the floor.
‘You’re not under arrest and I’ve got no intention of bringing charges against you for things that you were forced to do. If you’ve killed Sandy… then tell me where -’
‘Sandy’s not dead,’ Mickery interrupted, ‘at least I don’t think he is. And I didn’t do anything to him.’
‘So where is he? If we can get help to him…’
‘I don’t know. We were in a metal container, a freight container down by the docks I’d guess. I could smell the sea when I was dragged out.’
‘Who dragged you out?’
‘She did. Katherine.’
‘Let me be clear on this. She dragged you out and spared you, despite the fact that Sandy was alive and unharmed?’
Mickery nodded.
‘The gun was empty. She never intended for us to die. It was all a big fucking joke.’
Helen sat back in her chair, processing this new development.
‘Why, Hannah? Why did she spare you?’
‘Because she wanted me to give you a message.’
‘A message?’
‘I was to contact Brooks, but speak to you. Only to you.’
‘And what is that message?’
‘I commend you.’
Helen waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming.
‘That’s it?’
Mickery nodded. ‘I commend you,’ she repeated. There was no way she wasn’t giving this message, Helen thought to herself.
‘What does it mean?’ Hannah Mickery’s question was desperate. As if Helen’s answer could make sense of her terrible experiences.
‘It means we’re getting closer to the killer.’
‘Who is she?’
Helen paused. What to tell her?
‘I can’t be certain, Hannah. Not yet.’
Hannah snorted – disbelief writ large on her face.
‘And what am I supposed to do whilst you’re playing cops and robbers?’
‘We can offer you secure accommodation and personal protection if that’s what -’
‘Don’t bother.’
‘I mean it, Hannah, we can look af-’
‘You think anything you do will stop her? She’s not going to be beaten. She’s going to win. Don’t you see that?’
Mickery’s eyes blazed. She looked completely demented.
‘Let me call you a doctor, Hannah. I really think -’
‘I hope you can sleep at night.’
Mickery gripped her arm, pinching the skin sharply.
‘Whatever it is you’ve done, I hope you can sleep at night.’
Helen left the interview to seek the station doctor, with Mickery’s words still ringing in her ears. Her accusation had been prophetic and troubling. Helen was so engrossed in her chain of thought that at first she didn’t notice that someone was calling her name.
Whittaker. She should have been expecting this. Inwardly, Helen cursed herself for not having a battle plan ready for this tricky situation.
‘How is she? Did you manage to get anything out of her?’
His tone was business-like, but Helen could tell he was tense. He was a good politician, a good actor, but he was rattled. He had no idea what sort of state Mickery was in and what she was saying. She could destroy his career in a couple of sentences.
‘She’s in a bad way, sir. But she’s bearing up and cooperating.’
‘Good, good.’ Not very convincing, thought Helen.
‘What about the lawyer?’ Whittaker continued. ‘Is he…?’
‘We’re not sure at the moment. It looks as though she might have let them both go.’
This clearly unnerved him.
‘Well, keep me up to speed. We won’t be able to keep a lid on this thing much longer, so…’
And with that, he was gone. What now? Helen knew she had little choice. It was hard to find a private space in the nick, somewhere you could talk freely. But behind the canteen bins was one such place. So she went there now and called Anti-Corruption.
‘What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room, ok?’
Helen was now back in the incident room. Charlie, Bridges, Grounds, Sanderson, McAndrew – they’d all been summoned to a team briefing and were listening, tense and expectant. They nodded in unison to Helen’s question and awaited more.
‘So far our killer has targeted five couples. Every one of them is connected to me in some way.’
A visible reaction from the team, but no one was prepared to interrupt Helen in this mood, so she carried on.
‘Marie and Anna Storey. I helped save them from the mob. Ben Holland, born James Hawker, was about to be murdered by his deranged father when I intervened. Martina, our prostitute, was in fact Matty Armstrong, a rent boy who was tortured and abused by a gang of men, until me and my colleague saved him.’
Another murmur from the team.
‘Diane Anderson, then pregnant, was in a pile-up near Portsmouth. Louise Tanner and I were working in Traffic then and we helped save her and her unborn baby, Amy. Diane never came forward because she wasn’t travelling with her husband at the time… but she’s admitted it now.’
‘And Mickery?’ - finally someone dared ask a question. McAndrew was the brave one this time.
‘Mickery and Sandy were a bonus. A little joke at our and their expense. The killer obviously thought we weren’t catching on quick enough so decided to send us a message. Mickery was released on the condition that she seek me out with the following phrase: “I commend you.”’
The phrase hung heavy in the air. No one ventured a response.
‘I was given official police commendations for all but one of the incidents I just mentioned. Our killer has deliberately targeted people whom I helped and has endeavoured to destroy them. It doesn’t matter to her if they are killed or do the killing. They are ruined either way. She enjoys that unknown quantity, it gives the whole show an element of surprise for her.’
The obvious question was ‘Who’s the killer?’, so Helen was impressed by Charlie’s response.
‘Did you receive any other commendations?’