But nothing so far. The same crushing silence. The same debilitating frustration. Mark and Charlie were out there somewhere and there was nothing Helen could do to help them.
She lasted ten minutes in her flat, before marching out and speeding back to the incident room. There had to be a clue out there somewhere. And Helen had to find it.
108
The baby wouldn’t stop shouting.
Charlie kept picturing it inside her. Somehow she knew it was a girl. And when she pictured her baby, it was already human with a personality and needs, rather than just a bunch of cells. She pictured her baby screaming for food, confused and distressed about why she wasn’t getting anything from her mother. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Was her tiny stomach cramping with hunger as Charlie’s was? She might not even have a stomach yet, Charlie thought, but it was an image she couldn’t get out of her head. I am starving my baby. I am starving my baby.
Mark and Charlie had put themselves in this situation. They were to blame for it. But her baby was innocent. Pure and innocent. Why should her baby pay the price? Her anger at their stupidity fired her spirit. Her will at least wasn’t diminished, unlike her emaciated, useless body.
She tried to swallow her fury. She tried to sleep. But the night was long. And cold. And quiet. Charlie tried to sleep but her baby wouldn’t stop shouting.
Shouting at her to pick up the gun.
109
The team had been briefed and dispatched. Whilst Bridges, Sanderson and the rest of the team had fanned out across the county and beyond, Helen remained behind in the incident room. Someone had to coordinate the massive search and, besides, Helen had the nasty feeling she was missing something and wanted to review the evidence again.
She had chased up every tiny lead. Every council in southern England had been contacted and the clerical staff were now poring over the list of brownfield sites that were awaiting renovation or demolition. The port authorities had been contacted – a list of warehouses and craft that were out of action was being compiled. Rental properties were being chased down, but they could only process the most recent rentals and who was to say Suzanne hadn’t rented a place weeks ago.
The search was massive and all-encompassing, but nevertheless Helen was gripped by a sense of the futility of it all. If the location where they were being held had been chosen randomly, then what were the odds of them finding it? Driven by fear of failure and a sense that the answer was under her nose, Helen went back over the key sites of the childhood she’d shared with her sister. She’d always looked up to Marianne, who was the stronger of the two, and had followed her around like a shadow. If you could find Marianne, you would find Jodie, that’s what they used to say. Changing her name, changing her life, Helen had tried to step out of that shadow, but it fell on her now once more, bringing darkness and despair with it.
It was while reading her file on Arrow Security that Helen had felt that first shiver of excitement and exhilaration that heralds a new lead. In this age of gender equality, the presence of a female security guard on their lists shouldn’t have stood out. But how many female security guards did you really see? More importantly, this female guard had only joined Arrow two months ago. She had been assigned to help keep an eye on the properties around Croydon and Bromley, as that’s where she lived. But her references looked shaky – forged – and a quick check by the clerical staff had shown her home address to be fake.
Helen faxed Marianne’s original mugshot and the computer-generated image of an ‘older’ Marianne over to Arrow and the alarmed company had responded promptly. The woman in the images could be their new employee, who went by the name of Grace Shields.
Grace. There could be no doubt about it. But was it a ‘fuck you’ or ‘come hither’? Helen opted for the latter and was now once more speeding towards Chatham Tower. She couldn’t be sure if – or when – her sister had meant her to find the link, but her mind was made up. Either Marianne was somewhere in Chatham Tower or Mark and Charlie were and she was going to find them.
Helen felt a surge of hope inside as she sped north. The endgame had begun.
110
It was raining when they took me away.
I hadn’t noticed it when they’d dragged me out to the cop car, but as I sat in the back like a common criminal, I noticed the pulsing blue lights reflecting in the puddles on the street.
I felt numb. The psychologists would say it was shock after the killings, but I never believed that. It was shock all right, but not about that. They’d tried to get me to talk to them, but I wouldn’t – couldn’t – give them a word. I was already shutting down. It was the beginning of the end for me.
I looked up and saw her staring at me from the doorway. She was wrapped in a blanket and there was a social worker fussing around her, but she just stared straight ahead, as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. But it was happening and she had made it happen. It was she who tore the family apart, not me.
I got all the bad press, got a stretch, was spat at and vilified. But she committed the real crime and she knew it.
I could see it in her eyes as they drove me away. She was a Judas, no, she was worse than Judas. He only betrayed his friend. She betrayed her sister.
111
Do it quickly now. Get it over with.
Mark urged himself to move, to summon his last reserves of strength and do the deed. But his fever raged, his body ached and he found it hard to move his legs. But needs must – he willed himself into action.
Charlie lay across the room. She was crying and shouting now. Was she losing her mind? Normally so calm, so warm, now she was full of fury and violence, a hissing harpy on the road to madness. Who knew what was going through her mind?
The gun was equidistant between them. Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off it. Now that they had exhausted all attempts to escape, the gun was the only solution for them.
He pulled himself up on to his elbows. Immediately, they collapsed beneath him and he fell to the floor, his chin connecting sharply with the cold stone. Furious, he tried again, straining every muscle to raise his skeletal frame from the ground. This time he managed it, pressing home the advantage by bringing his knees up and tucking them underneath his chest. Sharp pains arrowed around his chest, his legs, his arms – his body was rebelling against him, but he wouldn’t let it win.
He stole another glance at the gun. Easy does it now, no sudden movements. He moved slowly up on to his bum, so he was sitting up again. Suddenly being upright made his head pound and unbidden a memory shot forth – of Elsie laying a cold flannel on his head to soothe away a New Year hangover. She always was a little angel. His little angel.
The gun was five feet away. How quickly could he cover the ground? Once he had committed to doing it there must be no turning back. A moment’s delay and his resolve would fail him. A moment’s indecision and his body might fail him. He had made his decision now and mustn’t let any last-minute doubts stop him.