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 now 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. While 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 onto 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 was a shabby collection of low-rent supermarkets, industrial parks and depots. It was a small place and many of the local cops were on nodding terms with the hookers and junkies who also made it their home, taking advantage of the numerous squats and abandoned houses that disfigured the streets. News could travel surprisingly fast in this enclosed community and the word was out. A good tip-off 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 body shops. 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 Mickery. 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.Somethinghad 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.
“Why did you become a police officer, Charlie?”
Fuck, it was bad. If that was the opening question, she clearly was in deep.
“To do my bit. Catch the bad guys.”
“And do you think you’re a good police officer?”
“Of course.”
A long silence, then:
“Tell me about Hannah Mickery. And how you let her go.”
Charlie wasn’t going to rise to that one. Whatever was thrown at her, she must keep calm. Everything could depend on that. So Charlie told her about how Hannah had outwitted her. About how they had lost her. No point dressing things up when she was clearly already in serious trouble.
