Eeny Meeny

107

It was an annihilation. Other police officers might have shrunk from the task, sending some scapegoat to field the shitstorm. But Helen knew this situation was of her making, so she had no choice but to be the sacrificial lamb.

Flanked by two huge close-ups of Mark and Charlie, Helen briefed the national press, urging anyone who had suspicions to get in touch. Emilia’s spread in the Evening News had started a stampede. Every major tabloid and broadsheet from the UK was represented in the packed briefing room, as well as journalists from Europe, the US and beyond.

There was no hiding any more. They were hunting a serial killer. This was the public admission that Emilia Garanita had been waiting for and she piled on the agony now, calling for Helen to resign. She demanded an official enquiry into Helen’s leadership during this case. The Evening News was running another big spread, cataloguing the lies, half-truths, evasions and incompetence that had in their view characterized the investigation so far. Helen let the assault ride over her – as long as she got the message out there, the professional cost was of little importance.

She had intended to stay at the coalface all night, to work off her anger and frustration, but her concerned team finally prevailed on her to go home – for an hour or two at least. They had all worked themselves to the bone, but she was running on empty.

Helen biked home, keeping her speed steady – she was still shaky and emotional. Once home, she showered and changed. It was good to feel clean and immediately she felt a surge of energy and, even more ridiculously, hope.

For a brief exhilarating moment, she felt sure she would find them alive and well.

But as she stared out of the window at the gloomy nightscape, this brief spasm of optimism started to evaporate. They had looked everywhere and they had come up empty-handed. Whilst Hampshire police tore Southampton apart in their hunt for the missing officers, Helen had contacted her colleagues at the Met. Perhaps there was something personal in her sister’s choice of location? Perhaps she’d chosen somewhere ‘fun’ to have the last laugh? There were the derelict warehouses where they used to go to smash the windows, the cemetery where they used to get drunk, the schools that they truanted from, the underpasses where they watched the boys skateboarding. She had asked for them all to be investigated.

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.