“Sort of. Whittaker liked me, saw a future for me. So I just mentioned it—better safe than sorry, you know. Well, he didn’t like it. Not at all. Said I was mistaken, but I knew I wasn’t.”
He paused, scared of saying any more.
“Go on. What happened next?”
“He said he could destroy my career with one phone call. That I didn’t understand what I was getting involved with. We... he decided there and then that I was to be transferred back to London as soon as possible. I guess it was him that let the cat out of the bag about the strike. As a reason for my departure. He told me that you knew all this. That it was your idea.”
Anger flared in Helen; then she reined it back in sharply. She had to keep calm, keep focused. Was this all for real?
“He said I was involved?”
“Yes, that you were handling it, so there was no point saying anything to you.”
“What did you do next?”
“I tried to carry on but I couldn’t keep it going, not with the lads on my back as well. So I signed off sick. Been hiding out here ever since, biding my time until my transfer...”
He tailed off as the reality of his situation hit him. For the first time that day, Helen was conciliatory.
“This doesn’t have to end badly, Simon. If what you’ve told me today is true, then I can make this right for you. You can take the transfer, learn your lesson and start over again without a blemish on your record. You can do the things you were meant to do, achieve what you want to achieve.”
Ashworth looked up, disbelief jostling with hope.
“But I need you to do one thing for me in return. You are going to come to my flat now. And when you get there you are going to write a statement putting down everything you’ve just told me. Then you are going to wait. You are not going to answer your phone or make any calls. You’re not going to mail, text or tweet. You are going to sit still and quiet and the rest of the world need never know we’ve spoken, until I say the time is right. Is that understood?”
Ashworth nodded. He would do anything she told him now.
“Good. Then let’s go.”
76
There was no backing out now. The deal had been struck. Like it or not, it was time to follow through.
When Mickery had opened her left hand, knowing full well it was empty, Sandy had collapsed to the ground moaning. Mickery had watched, her emotions in riot. Part exhilaration, part horror, but overall... relief. She would live.
Shortly afterward Sandy started to beg. He said he hadn’t been serious, that it was crazy, that they had to stick together, that they shouldn’t letherwin.
“What would you have done if you’d won? Would you have spared me?”was Mickery’s retort. Sandy couldn’t answer, which spoke volumes. He would have pulled the trigger and saved himself. He was a selfish little shit at heart.
“Please, Hannah. I have a wife. I have two daughters. You know them, you’ve met them. Please don’t do this to them.”
“We don’t have a choice, Sandy.”
“’Course we do. We always have a choice.”
“To starve to death? Is that what you want?”
“Maybe we can get out. Force the door...”
“For the love of God, Sandy, don’t make this worse than it already is. There is no way out. There is no escape. This is it. There is no other way.”
At which point, he’d started to blub. But Mickery felt no pity now. If Sandy had won, she would have been dead by now, no doubt about it. Suddenly hatred rose up inside her—How dare he beg for mercy that he wouldn’t have rendered!—and as he clawed at her, she pushed him sharply away. He tripped and fell, landing heavily on the dirty metal floor.
“I’m begging you, Hannah, please don’t do this...”
But Mickery had already picked up the gun. She had never fired one before, never thought of hurting anyone, but she was cool and collected now as she prepared to execute someone she had once called a friend.
“I’m so sorry, Sandy.”
