Following the signs for Bury St. Edmunds, Helen found herself in unfamiliar territory. As she zeroed in on her destination, she realized that she felt nervous. This was an uncomfortable place for her and returning to it was like opening Pandora’s box.
The house was a pleasant-looking bay-fronted house with well-kept gardens. Technically it was a probation hostel, but it looked much nicer than that. Locals knew to be wary of it, but a passerby would think it an attractive, welcoming place.
Helen had called ahead so was swiftly ushered in to meet the hostel manager. She confirmed her credentials, presented the most recent photo and trotted out her cover story with assurance. She knew it was a long shot, but nevertheless she felt deflated when the manager told her that Suzanne Cooke had not been seen for over a year. She had never really fit in, the manager confided, never seemed interested in engaging with their programs. They had obviously alerted the probation services after she’d vanished, but what with the cutbacks and reorganization, they never spoke to the same person twice and her case was never followed up.
“We’d love to do more, but there’s only so much we can do. We have our hands full here as it is,” the manager concluded.
“I understand—it’s tough. Tell me a little more about Suzanne. What did she do when she was here? Did she have friends? Anyone she confided in?”
“Not that I know of. She didn’t really join in. Kept herself very much to herself. Mostly she liked to exercise. She’s very well built, muscular, athletic. She did a lot of bodybuilding, and when she wasn’t in the gym she was helping out with the culling. She was stronger than most of the blokes, they said.”
“Culling?”
“In Thetford Forest. It’s only a couple of miles away and every year we allow some of our residents to help out with the summer cull if they want to. It’s strictly supervised, obviously, because of the firearms, but some people like it—it’s hard manual labor and you get a whole day out in the fresh air.”
“How so?”
“It’s mostly red deer in Thetford. They are shot early in the day, usually in remote areas of the forest. It’s pretty impassable for vehicles, so draggers have to get them back to the nearest track so they can be loaded up.”
“How?”
“Using a deer harness. You tie the deer’s legs together, then clip a canvas cord round the bind. The cord is attached to a harness—bit like a mountaineer’s harness—that you put on round your shoulders. Then you drag the deer along behind you. Much easier than trying to carry it.”
Another piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place.
92
Charlie stared at the computer screen, her stomach knotted with tension. Skype was making its trilly ring tone and Charlie was praying someone would answer. The fate of Stephanie Bines hung in the balance.
It had been an exhausting search, but Charlie had never given up hope. Accompanied by DCs Bridges and Grounds, she’d trawled every low-rent pub, café and nightclub in Southampton and beyond. The conversation always went the same way:
“Yeah, we know Stephanie. Used to work here few months back. Very popular, especially with the fellas.”
“And do you know where she is now?”
“No idea. Just didn’t show up for work one day.”
Initially this had made Charlie extremely nervous. Any mention of sudden disappearances was likely to do so in this case, but slowly Charlie formed a picture of a naturally itinerant young woman, not comfortable in herself, who didn’t form strong attachments to people or places. She was a traveler who had dropped anchor on the south coast, but something told Charlie that this was only a temporary mooring. So she’d stopped pounding the streets and returned to the incident room to run a check on international travel. The last trace of her in Southampton was in September, so she started there. Aided by her DCs, she bashed the phones to Qantas, British Airways, Emirates before eventually hitting the jackpot with Singapore Airlines. October 16, Stephanie Bines, one-way ticket to Melbourne. Further checks revealed that Stephanie had a sister living in a suburb of Melbourne and Stephanie had now been traced—alive and well, seemingly—to her home there.
But Charlie was taking no chances, hence the Skype hookup. The killer’s ability to mislead and deceive was such that Charlie wouldn’t—couldn’t—relax until she’d seen Stephanie with her own eyes.
And there she was. More tanned than before, blonder than before, but definitely Stephanie. A small victory for Charlie, Helen and the team. They had saved one at least. Had Stephanie’s sudden decision to return home spoiled the killer’s best-laid plans?
Stephanie didn’t need much encouragement to get traveling again. She’d been at home only a few weeks, but already was feeling suffocated and belittled. Charlie had to think on her feet, inventing a mild security risk connected to the gangland trial Stephanie had helped to conclude. She was calm and reassuring, but suggested it might be best for Stephanie and her family if she took a little trip—to Queensland, the Red Center, wherever—while they got to the bottom of things over here.
Charlie ended their Skype session with a sense of optimism—perhaps the killer wasn’t so invincible after all.
Her attention was suddenly caught by Mark, gesturing to her from across the incident room. She hurried over.
“Station has just taken a call. Tanner’s been spotted begging near the old kids’ hospital on Spire Street.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago. Mum with a buggy called it in. She’d given Tanner a quid and nearly lost her whole purse into the bargain.”
They were on the road and heading to the city center. Was Tanner their killer? They would soon find out. Charlie felt her pulse quicken as she and Mark sped to the scene. It was good to be back in the saddle together and closing in for the kill.
93
