Jake was taken aback by the force of the explosion.
“It’s just a suggestion, and if it’s not for you, that’s fine. But I don’t feel comfortable going in this dir—”
“You don’t feelcomfortable! You’re a bloody whore, for God’s sake. You’re comfortable with whatever I pay you to do.”
She was marching toward him, and for a moment Jake thought she was going to attack him, such was the level of her fury. He always had a Taser tucked away close by, but he’d never had to use it. How ironic would it be if he had to use it now onher? But thankfully, just as Jake was edging toward it, she turned on her heel and marched out of the flat, slamming the door fiercely behind her.
Jake fought the urge to go after her. They weren’t friends; she was just a client. He’d crossed that line before and lived to regret it. Best cut her off now and not look back. He had liked her but hadn’t asked to be abused. He was too long in the tooth to put up with that. With a sigh he dropped the blinds and shut her out of his life for good.
39
Helen punched her speed up to a hundred miles per hour and roared into the fast lane. It was late now and the ring road was virtually empty. She reveled in the freedom, gunning the throttle harder and harder. The speed was soothing—for a moment the awful, heartbreaking events of the last few days slipped from her mind.
Only a couple of miles to go. The thought of what lay ahead focused her. She had a job to do. And she had to do it well—lives hung in the balance. Three of the victims—Ben, Marie and Anna—had been known personally to her. Surely that was too much of a coincidence. Was the fact that she knew them important? Or was there something in their past traumas that had made them worthy of the killer’s attention?
Amy was the stumbling block. Helen had never met her and as far as she was aware Amy had no criminal record. Same went for Sam. So if the connection to Helen was important, why hadtheybeen chosen? It was late and Amy’s mother wouldn’t thank her for calling round with more questions, but there was no other way.
Her father opened the door, primed to deliver a volley of abuse. Emilia Garanita and her colleagues had been a constant presence in their lives since Amy had returned home and the Andersons were reaching the breaking point. On seeing it was Helen, he swallowed his reluctance and let her inside.
She was ushered into the living room and made to wait while Diane Anderson went to fetch her daughter from her bedroom. Helen scanned the walls, looking for inspiration. A handful of happy family photos—Mum, Dad and precious daughter—stared back at her, mocking her ignorance.
Amy was the picture of truculence, clearly unhappy to be forced back into her nightmare. She had actually been asleep—a rare occurrence—and Helen had to work very hard to warm her up. Slowly, as Amy came to realize that maybe she wasn’t being cast as the bad guy, she started to rally, answering Helen’s questions honestly and openly. Amy had never been in trouble with the cops and had certainly never met Helen before. Had Sam ever got into trouble? Not that she knew of. He wanted to be a lawyer and was always very clear that one brush with the law could put paid to his chosen career. Some people had thought he was a bit dull as a result, but Amy had valued his solidity and reliability. He had always been there for her—until she had shot him in the back.
Amy was clamming up again—her guilt once more forcing its way into her consciousness, dragging her down to the bottom again. Her mother wanted to accompany her to her bedroom, but Helen insisted she and her husband stay to answer her questions. Diane Anderson was terse in her response, and for once Helen’s patience snapped, and she threatened Diane with arrest unless she sat down and did as she was told. She complied and for the next thirty minutes Helen peppered the couple with questions about their lives. Had they ever been in trouble with the law? Had they ever met Helen before in any capacity? But with the exception of a drunk-driving offense by the husband, Richard, three years ago, there was nothing. What about a connection to Ben? Or Anna and Marie? Helen probed, but she knew it was hopeless—they came from completely different backgrounds and moved in different worlds.
Richard Anderson showed her out. She had turned up late at night and blotted her notebook with them for no tangible gain. There must be a connection—Helen was sure of that—but for now it remained as elusive as ever.
40
She was locking up her bike in the station’s car park when she heard footsteps coming up behind her. She flinched when she felt an arm on her shoulder, but there was no need—she sensed who it was.
Mark had left countless messages on her mobile. He was worried about her.
“You okay?”
It was a hard question to answer, so Helen simply nodded.
“You shot off so quickly from Marie’s flat. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.”
“I’m fine, Mark. I was shaken at the time, but I’m okay now. I just needed a bit of time to myself.”
“Sure, sure.”
But he wasn’t sure. She was so brittle, yet so remote. She’d been in tears at the house, which had shocked everyone, but now she was back to her usual elusive self. He didn’t think she was a primal screamer. He’d never seen her at the gym. She had no boyfriend, husband or children, so what was her release? At least his was obvious—going for the booze. She was just a bloody enigma, refusing to give away anything of herself. It frustrated the hell out of him.
“Thank you, Mark.”
She laid her hand on his arm, gave it the briefest of squeezes and then walked into the station. For a moment, Mark felt like a teenager again, stupidly elated by the tiniest of things.
***
“Let’s review what we’ve got.”
Helen had called the whole team together in the incident room to sift the evidence.
“Witnesses?”
“Nothing so far,” DC Bridges responded. “We’re still on-site, but it’s mostly junkies after a reward or attention seekers. Someone saw a dark car, someone saw a motorbike, someone else saw a UFO... The hotline’s had plenty of action but it’s basically old ladies and kids having a laugh.”
