Eeny Meeny

101

Was it her imagination or did they blame her? Charlie and Mark had been missing for over forty-eight hours and the team’s anxiety was morphing into shock and distress. Now as Helen marshalled the team’s hunt for their missing colleagues, she began to see accusing stares everywhere, as if they had collectively decided that this was all her doing.

Phone triangulation last placed Mark and Charlie on Spire Street. This tallied with the anonymous tipoff about Tanner that had prompted them to head to that area. But after that the trail went cold. They had turned off their mobiles and radios and hadn’t been in touch with any of their police colleagues. Initially the team had hoped that the spotting of Tanner was genuine and that somehow – somewhere – Charlie and Mark were still working the case. But slowly it had become obvious to all that the phone call was bogus. There had been no attempted mugging – Mark and Charlie had been deliberately guided to this location. It smacked of a trap. Everyone was thinking the same thing – had she got them?

Spreading out from Spire Street they investigated every building, spoke to every shop owner and passer-by and on the second circuit of the former children’s hospital a sharp-eyed constable had spotted a loose board on one of the windows. There was fresh mud on the sill as if someone had climbed through it recently. Helen wanted to get officers inside immediately, but her superiors had refused to let her do so without tactical support.

It had taken a frustratingly long time to mobilize an armed unit, but Helen had knocked heads together and was now speeding towards the old hospital with S019 in tow. It was a big building with multiple exits and she didn’t want to allow Suzanne to slip through their fingers. If she was there of course.

They effected their entry as carefully and as quietly as they could. SO19 took point, with Helen, DC Bridges and a dozen PCs right behind them. It was a massive area to search, but fanning out they could cover it fairly quickly, keeping in constant touch via radio.

Helen’s whole body was tense. She knew she must try and control her nerves – excessive nerves lead to bad decisions, especially when you’ve got a Glock in your hands. It was a blustery day and the wind that whistled through the broken windows made the whole place feel unearthly, even haunted. Get a grip, she told herself – she mustn’t see shadows or phantoms where they don’t exist.

But it was hard to relax when there was so much at stake. This was all her fault. Not just because she had inspired the killings, but because she had pleaded with Mark to return to the job. If she’d only left him alone, he would have been a sad but safe fuck-up. He had returned to work without a hint of recrimination or anger. Because he believed in what he did and because – in spite of everything – he believed in her. And what a bitter harvest he had reaped for his dedication.

She crept upstairs, breaking with protocol by peeling off on her own. She peered in the first room. It was lonely and forgotten, a dark dusty place. Helen released the safety catch on her weapon. Instinct told her that her sister would not be careless enough to walk into an SO19 unit. It was Helen she was after. She raised her gun as she darted her head into the next doorway – convinced that she would soon be face to face with her nemesis.

A sudden squawk on the radio. It was DC Bridges. He sounded excited, rather than alarmed. He had heard noises. Coming from downstairs. He was on his way there now to investigate. Helen immediately turned tail and sprinted down the stairs.

Running fast in the direction of the banging, DC Bridges was surprised to see Helen pull ahead of him. He had always prided himself on his speed, but his DI was a woman possessed. She was trying to keep it all in, but Bridges could see she was a coiled spring. Now, driven on by fear, apprehension and anger, she was making this story hers. She wanted to be the one to end the nightmare.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the corridors splintered off in four directions. The radio squawked again, and Bridges turned it down, silenced by a venomous look from Helen. They strained their ears to hear.

Straight ahead. The noise was definitely coming from the corridor right in front of them. They sprinted forwards. The first door was locked, but the sound was from further up. They were on the move again. There was the sound, repetitive and insistent – bang, bang, bang. From the next-door room. The door was locked. But they would get through. They had to get through.

As Helen screamed through the door, hoping for a response, a PC hared off to get a crowbar. He was back in under a minute, bringing more officers with him. Putting his shoulder into it, he worked the lock on the heavy metal door. Back and forth, back and forth until eventually with a protesting crack the door gave way. Shoving him out the way, Helen and Bridges tore inside.

To find an empty room.

A broken window, half off its hinges, beat an insistent rhythm on the metal window frame, as it flapped angrily in the wind.