She had no idea what she was going to do. She was just gripped by a terrible urgency, a sense of things building to a horrible climax, and she knew she had to do everything in her power to prevent further bloodshed. A baby’s life was at stake. Ella’s too. In spite of everything she’d done, in spite of the appalling horror of her crimes, Helen felt sympathy for Ella and wanted to bring her in safely.
Soon she was in Spire Street. Pulling up outside the dilapidated tenement building, she killed the engine and hopped off her bike in one fluid movement. She looked around – there were no signs of life on this forgotten street. Sliding her baton into her belt, she stepped inside the building. The stairwell was cold and lonely, decorated with the detritus left by last night’s crack smokers. The tired building was scheduled for redevelopment next year and in the interim had become home to a motley crew of squatters and junkies. They seemed to operate an open-door policy, people coming and going day and night, so it wasn’t hard to gain access to the third-floor flat. Helen had last seen Ella here four days ago, snuggled up on the dirty sofa with other prostitutes and junkies. The shared company of the afflicted.
But Ella wasn’t there now. Faced by a warrant card, the odorous swampy who ‘owned’ the flat directed her upstairs. According to him, Ella lived at the top of the house in splendid isolation – just her and her baby tucked away from the prying eyes of social services. It was not the sort of house where people asked questions – the perfect hideaway for their invisible killer.
Helen paused outside flat 9, then gently turned the handle. It was locked. Helen placed her ear against the door, straining to hear if there was movement within. Nothing. Then a faint cry. She strained to hear more. But now it was quiet once more. Pulling a credit card from her pocket, she slipped it through the crack between the door and the architrave. The latch was old and weak and within twenty seconds it slid open. Helen was in.
She closed the door silently behind her and stood stock still. Nothing. She moved slowly forward. The old floorboards protested, so she changed her route, hugging the wall.
She paused at the doorway to the kitchen. She darted her head round quickly, but it was empty. Just a dirty sink and a large cannibalized fridge, humming happily to itself.
On Helen crept towards the living room – or what passed for it. Somehow she sensed Ella would be here, but as she stepped inside, she found it was also empty. Then she heard it – that cry again.
Now fear overrode her caution and extending her baton Helen marched across the room, pushing the bedroom door roughly open. She expected an attack at any moment, but the room was bare – except for a crumpled old bed and a travel cot, in which a baby girl was stirring. Helen shot a look over her shoulder, expecting ambush, but all was still, so she hurried inside.
So this was her. The child that Ella had never asked for. But whom she had cared for nevertheless. Helen had been right to come. Placing her baton on the bed, Helen bent down and picked up the baby, who rubbed her sleepy eyes with her tiny bunched fist, as she awoke from her slumbers. The sight made Helen smile. Seeing this, the baby smiled back. Who knew what this baby had seen, what she had experienced, but she could still smile. Some innocence remained.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Helen turned to find Ella standing not ten feet away from her in the living room. Ella’s face was annoyed, rather than angry, but as soon as Helen turned, her expression changed. As she recognized Helen’s face, she dropped her shopping bag and fled. Helen waited for the front door to slam, but instead she heard a drawer opening and shutting noisily. Seconds later, Ella returned, a large butcher’s knife in her hand.
‘Put her down and get out of here.’
‘I can’t do that, Ella.’
Ella flinched at her name.
‘PUT HER DOWN!’ she screamed.
The baby started whimpering now, scared by this noisy face-off.
‘It’s over, Ella. I know what you’ve been through, I know how you’ve suffered. But it’s finished. For your sake, for your baby’s, it’s time to hand yourself in.’
‘You give her to me right now or I will stab you through your fucking eyes.’
Helen held the baby close to her, as Ella took a step forward.
‘What’s her name?’ Helen asked, backing off, but maintaining eye contact.
‘Don’t fuck with me.’
‘Tell me her name, please.’
‘Give her to me.’
Her voice was threatening, unstable, but she halted her advance. Her eyes flicked between her baby and Helen, weighing up her options.
‘I am not going to do that, Ella. You’ll have to kill me first. My only concern is for you and your baby’s welfare. You’re not well and you both deserve better than this place. Let me help you.’
‘You think I don’t know what’ll happen? As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll be in cuffs and I’ll never see her again.’
‘That’s not what’ll -’
‘You think I’ll fall for that? Well, forget it. She’s not leaving here and neither are you.’
As Ella advanced, Helen turned to shield the baby from attack. Ella’s eyes were black, she was panting with anger, and in that moment Helen knew she had made a fatal mistake.
113
Charlie hurried away from the Fairview estate, struggling to keep up with her superior. Harwood was spitting blood, furious that their ‘lead’ had turned out to be a waste of time. They had sped to the estate, with Tactical Support and most of the station’s CID team in tow – all of which was quite a surprise for the sixteen-year-old girl who was hiding out in her mate’s flat, following her clumsy attempt to steal some make-up from Boots. She did look passingly like Angel, but she was far too young and, besides, her long black hair was genuine. Once she and her mate had recovered from the shock, they’d started to get lippy, asking if they always called out guys with guns to pick on young girls – none of which improved Harwood’s mood. In another light, in another world, it would have been funny. But the stakes were too high for that, so Charlie followed behind, her heart in her boots.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’
Charlie snapped out of it to see Harwood gesturing towards Tony, who was chatting to a uniformed officer he was friendly with. Harwood stared at Charlie, her eyes full of suspicion, but for once Charlie was innocent of all charges.
‘No idea.’
They hurried over.
‘You can’t be here,’ Harwood announced without introduction. ‘Whatever you think can be gained by coming down here -’
‘Would you shut the fuck up?’ Tony barked back at her, silencing her instantly. There was something in Tony’s eyes that brooked no argument.
‘Helen knows where Ella is. She’s gone to find her.’
‘What?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me where she was going. Or how she knew where she was. But I think she’s in danger. We’ve got to help her.’
The words poured from him, forced out at speed by his anxiety.
‘How the hell did she know?’
‘She wouldn’t say. I came to the seventh floor to hand in my report and then… She told me not to say anything… but I can’t do that to her.’
‘Get uniform onto it. I want to hear from anyone who’s seen her or her fucking bike. Check the traffic cameras – see if we can trace her route,’ Harwood said, turning to Charlie. ‘Get McAndrew back to the nick. Get her to go through Helen’s write-up. See if there’s anything in there.’
‘What about her phone? If we can triangulate that -’
‘Do it.’