•••
“Think, Charlie. Is there anything else you remember? Her face? Her smell? Her expression?”
“No, I’ve told you.”
“Did she say anything when she bumped into you? Did you hear an accent of any kind?”
Charlie closed her eyes, unwillingly casting her mind back to that moment.
“No. She just kind of grunted.”
“Grunted?”
“Yup, I’d winded her so...”
Charlie petered out, feeling Helen’s irritation and disappointment. The Polish prostitute who’d got the wrong room and disturbed the attack spoke broken English and was deeply suspicious of the police. Her description of the killer was basic, hence the pressure Helen was now piling on Charlie to conjure a rabbit from the hat. Some half-remembered detail could give them the break they so desperately needed.
“Okay, let’s leave it for now. You’re obviously tired,” Helen said, rising. “Perhaps things will be clearer tomorrow after you’ve had some sleep.”
She was halfway to the door when Charlie said:
“Here.”
Helen turned to see Charlie holding out her warrant card.
“You were right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
“Charlie, there’s no need to rush into this—”
“Someone died in my arms today,” Charlie shouted, her voice shaking even as she said it. “He died right in front of me. I had to wash his blood off my face, out of my hair. I had to wash his blood out of...”
She collapsed into sobs, huge breath-robbing sobs. Refusing to look at Helen, she planted her face in her hands. Her warrant card lay on the coffee table where she’d dropped it.
So this was it. All Helen had to do was pick it up. Charlie would be paid off, and that would be that. Helen had got what she wanted.
But Helen knew immediately that she wouldn’t pick it up. She had wanted to be rid of Charlie, but now, on the cusp of victory, she felt ashamed of her selfishness and cowardice. What right did she have to drive Charlie out, to consign her to a wilderness of bitterness and regret? She was supposed to help people. To save them, not damn them.
“I’m sorry, Charlie.”
Charlie’s sobbing paused momentarily, before continuing in a lower key. Helen seated herself next to Charlie.
“I’ve been a bitch. And I’m sorry. It’s... it’s my weakness, not yours... I still have Marianne on my skin, in my blood. I can’t shake her. Or Mark. Or you. Or that day. I’ve been screaming and shouting, running away, hoping that I could rub out the memories if I pushed everything and everyone away. I wanted to push you away. Which was cruel and selfish. I’m really sorry, Charlie.”
Charlie looked up, her eyelashes wet with tears.
“I knew what you were feeling, but I didn’t help you. I kicked you when you were down and that’s unforgivable. But I’d like you to forgive me if you can. It was never about you.”
Helen paused a moment before continuing:
“If you want to walk away, start a family, do normal things, then I won’t stand in your way. I’ll make sure you get whatever you need to start over. But if you change your mind, I want you back... I need you back.”
Charlie’s crying had ceased now, but she still refused to look up.
“We’re hunting a serial killer, Charlie. I haven’t said that out loud till now, because I didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t believe it could happen again. But it is true, and now I... I can’t stop her.”
