She hesitated before continuing.
“... he had this bicycle chain, big chunky thing with a padlock on the end, and he’d hit you with it. Over and over again until you couldn’t get up and run even if you wanted to. He’d be shouting and hollering as he beat you, calling you every name under the sun, until he’d run out of steam. And when you were lying there... like a rag doll in the dirt and the blood and the filth wishing you were dead... he’d piss on you.”
Her voice was shaking now.
“Then he’d bugger off and leave you there for the night. People said some girls froze to death there, but if you didn’t... then the next day you’d clean yourself up and go back to work. Praying that you’d never make him angry again.”
Tony looked at her. Her whole body was shaking.
“That’s the kind of people we are, Tony. He did that to us and now that’s all we’re good for. That’s all I am now. That’s all I can be. Do you understand?”
Tony nodded, though he wanted to tell her she was wrong, that she could be saved.
“The best that I can hope for is that it won’t kill me. That just for a little bit I can be safe.”
“You’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it.”
“My hero,” she replied, smiling through her tears.
She allowed herself to be held. He was supposed to carry on questioning her, but suddenly he didn’t want to ask her about the darkness and the filth and the violence. He wanted to take her away from that, take her to a better place. He wanted to save her.
And he knew he would risk everything to do it.
68
“Lyra Campbell is now our number one suspect in this investigation. She is a highly dangerous individual, and we would urge members of the publicnotto approach her. If they see her, or have any information on her whereabouts, they should call the police immediately.”
Detective Superintendent Ceri Harwood was holding court with the assembled members of the press. Charlie had never seen the media suite so busy—there were journalists from more than twenty countries, some of them reduced to standing in the corridor outside. They were scribbling furiously as Harwood brought them up to speed, but their eyes never left the enlarged sketch that dominated the screen behind her. Magnified, that face, those eyes, were even more beguiling and hypnotic. Who was this woman? What was her special power over people?
Charlie handled the operational questions. Inevitably Emilia Garanita asked why DI Grace wasn’t at the press conference—she seemed particularly disappointed that her sparring partner wasn’t present—and Charlie was happy to bat that back, underlining the many and enduring virtues of her boss. At that point Harwood cut in, leading the Q&A in another direction, and twenty minutes later the whole thing wrapped up.
When the final journalist had left, Harwood turned to Charlie.
“How did we do?”
“Good. The message will be out there in a couple of hours and... well, you can’t hide forever. Normally once the e-fit’s out we pick them up within forty-eight hours. Along with a few unfortunates who look a bit like them.”
Harwood smiled.
“Good. I must remember to call Tony Bridges. It’s thanks to him that we are where we are.”
Charlie nodded, swallowing her instinct to remind the station chief that it had been Helen’s idea to put someone undercover.
“How do you feel the investigation has gone so far, Charlie? You’ve been away for a while and have probably come back with fresh eyes...”
“It’s gone as well as it could have in the circumstances.”
“Have the different parts of the operation pulled their weight? Have we got anything from the surveillance yet?”
“No, not yet, but—”
“Do you think we should persist with it? It’s cripplingly expensive, and now that we have a concrete lead...”
“That’s DI Grace’s call. And yours, of course.”
It was a coward’s answer, but Charlie felt deeply uncomfortable discussing the running of the investigation behind Helen’s back. Harwood nodded, as if Charlie had actually said something quite profound, and then she sat down on a table edge.
“And how are you getting on with Helen?”
