Still, there were some things Ceri had that Helen didn’t. The superior rank. A loving husband. Two beautiful daughters. Harwood stared at the sleeping girls now and her despondency ebbed away. She had always been a fighter and despite having been in Helen Grace’s shadow for so long, where there was life there was hope.
As she descended the stairs once more, Harwood knew that there would be payback. Some day soon, she would settle the score. She had lost the battle after all. She had not lost the war.
11
The seventh-floor office was quiet as the grave. It was after hours now and the rest of the Major Incident Team had headed home, leaving Helen alone. Which is how she liked it. She didn’t need an audience for what she was about to do.
Double-checking that there was no one lurking in the corridors, Helen parked herself in front of a computer terminal and fired it up. Using someone else’s machine was a low trick, but a necessary one – it was strictly forbidden to access the PNC for personal use.
Within a minute, she was in the system. She didn’t hesitate, typing swiftly, ‘Robert Stonehill’. As the system searched for any crimes or incidents linked to that name, Helen tried to ignore the faint fluttering of hope inside her. Her nephew had dropped off the radar nearly twelve months ago now – he had had no contact with his adoptive parents or his friends – and Helen’s constant searching for him had yielded nothing. Her feud with Emilia Garanito had prompted the vindictive local journalist to publicly out Robert as the biological son of Helen’s sister, Marianne. Learning for the first time about his mother’s awful crimes, while the press besieged his poor parents’ house, had tipped the young man over the edge. He had fled in order to draw the press pack off. Helen had assumed he would reappear when the furore died down, but he hadn’t. Robert wanted to stay hidden.
His continued absence was crushing for Helen. He was the only family she had left and during their brief acquaintance she had made a promise – to herself and to Robert – to be his guardian angel. To protect him from a dark world that had taken his mother’s life and blighted hers. But she had failed utterly – and now he was lost to her for good.
The search came up blank. As it always did. Suppressing the deep sadness that rose inside her, Helen turned off the terminal and hurried out.
The short ride to Charlie’s house helped restore her spirits. She and Charlie had been through a lot together – good and bad – yet Helen always felt welcome. Steve and Charlie’s home wasn’t grand, but it was a happy one. Even more so than usual now, with the impending arrival of their baby girl.
‘You’re looking well,’ Helen said, as they sat in Charlie’s living room.
‘Is that code for enormous?’ Charlie countered.
‘No. It suits you.’
‘Bloated ankles and stretch marks – it’s a good look,’ Charlie replied, casting an envious eye over Helen’s trim figure. ‘Let’s hope it catches on.’
‘How are you and Steve getting on?’
‘Outwardly, excited. Inwardly, terrified.’
‘You’ll be fine. You’re both naturals.’
‘Maybe. If Steve and I are still married in twelve months’ time, we’ll be able to say it’s a job well done.’
Helen smiled and sipped her tea. Helen never drank, so was a good companion for a mum-to-be.
‘And how are you? McAndrew told me about your beach body,’ Charlie continued. ‘Sounds… unusual.’
Helen could tell by Charlie’s tone that she was already missing police work. Steve had been insistent she quit the Force after what had happened with Marianne, and Charlie had initially agreed to do so. But the unexpected discovery of her pregnancy had helped Charlie hedge her bets, opting for a back-room role and then a year’s maternity leave, taking her out of the firing line. Though she’d never say it aloud, Helen hoped Charlie would come back to Southampton Central when the time was right.
‘It is. It was clinically done – and some time ago – which makes me worry -’
‘What he’s been up to since?’ said Charlie, completing Helen’s sentence.
Helen nodded.
‘And how are the team shaping up in my absence?’
‘Still finding their feet,’ replied Helen diplomatically.
‘And Lloyd – how’s he doing?’
Helen sensed that this was what Charlie really wanted to know. The sudden elevation of this talented, but inexperienced officer to the role of DS had stuck in Charlie’s craw. She put it as much down to Detective Superintendent Harwood’s mistrust of Charlie, as she did to Lloyd’s individual merits. There’s nothing worse than losing out to politics and, despite Charlie’s good heart, Helen knew she was hoping Lloyd wouldn’t cover himself in glory.
‘Early days,’ Helen replied, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. Whatever she might feel personally, she could never let on that she was anxious about her current team.
Helen left shortly afterwards, wishing Charlie well and promising to return before D-Day. She was walking to her bike, when her phone rang. It was DC Grounds.
‘Sorry to disturb you late, Ma’am, but we’ve had results back on the pacemaker.’
Helen stopped walking.
‘The dead woman is Pippa Briers. She would be twenty-five now. Next of kin is her father, Daniel Briers. We’ve got a Reading address and phone number. Do you want me to make the call?’
‘No, I’ll do it. Text me the details.’
Helen rang off. Moments later, Grounds’ text came through. Helen steeled herself for what was to come. She couldn’t put it off – she owed it to Daniel and Pippa Briers to make the call without delay. Still she took a second to compose herself. However many times you’ve done it, it is never easy to tell a parent that their beloved daughter is dead.
12
Ruby came to, scared and disoriented. She had been determined not to let her guard down, but had dozed off nevertheless. She scanned the room quickly, alive to the danger despite her continued grogginess and aching head, but there was none. She was still alone.
What time was it? Ruby had no watch and the clock on the wall was frozen at quarter past twelve. She could have slept for five minutes or five hours, she had no way of knowing, which unnerved her deeply. She was like Sleeping Beauty down here, trapped in a living death. Except this lonely girl had no one to rescue her.
Ruby shivered, her body numb with cold. It must be night-time by now, because the temperature in the room had dropped markedly. It was a horrible damp kind of cold that got into your lungs and head. Ruby knew already that she would become ill here. Or worse. And she’d spent the whole day asking herself why.
She had tried to place her captor. Tall, thin, with a curious manner, there was something familiar about him – was it his face? Or the smell he gave off? – and she had tortured herself trying to think where she had seen him before. If she could work out who he was, then she could work on him, persuade him to see the harm he was doing. But he eluded her and her attempts to identify him only served to crush her spirit further.
Why? Why? Why?
Why was she here? What had she done?
At first, she had assumed he was going to kill her. Or worse. But he had made no attempt to harm her. Then she’d assumed he wanted money. But he didn’t. He wanted her. This strange room with its pastiche of homeliness – the stopped clock, the empty shelves, the freshly laundered sheets – was designed to be a home, not a prison.