Eeny Meeny

55

Charlie Brooks yawned and stretched out her arms. Her joints cracked loudly – she’d been sat in the same position for too long. She made a decision to move around more frequently, to stretch, exercise… then promptly banged her head on the low metal roof.

Charlie hated surveillance. The enclosed space, the junk food diet and the proximity to male officers who either fancied her, had bad personal hygiene, or both. Sometimes it brought results, but one always had the sense that the fun, the real policing, was happening elsewhere. Couldn’t Helen have found some other monkey for this job? Her mood sank further as she looked across at DC Grounds, who was unselfconsciously picking a spot.

Charlie had the distinct impression she was being punished – though what for she couldn’t say. Helen had definitely been ‘off’ with her recently. On several occasions Charlie had been tempted to ask her straight out what was wrong, only to pull back at the last second, concerned that she would come across as paranoid. Yet the feeling remained. Somehow she had irked Helen and perhaps the surveillance job on Mickery’s house was her penance.

Hannah Mickery had hardly left the house since her release from custody. A couple of trips to the grocery store, the newsagent’s, but little more. She hadn’t used her landline at all and her mobile calls had been brief and mundane. Clearly she wasn’t going to let the cloud of suspicion disrupt her working life, hence the visit from a client. The pair had been closeted away for an hour now – Charlie couldn’t help wondering what hang-up, insecurity or peccadillo was being discussed.

Then suddenly there was movement. Charlie sat bolt upright and swung her camera into position. Only to be disappointed. It was just the client leaving her session, sheltering herself from the pelting rain with her ‘cheerful’ yellow umbrella. Charlie sat back down, disgruntled, and watched her go.

You’d have to be a real mentalist to wear that outfit, Charlie thought uncharitably. The purple beret and the red mac – did she think she’d just stepped out of a Prince video? And the heels. They were strippers’ heels, pure and simp-

Which is when Charlie noticed that the woman who’d just left the house wasn’t wearing heels. She was wearing flats.

Charlie was out of the van in a flash, ordering Grounds to the house as she set off after the client. Padding fast but quietly she gained on the woman, but then, with only forty yards to go, the woman half turned. It was only a glimpse but enough for Charlie to know for certain that this was Mickery dressed in her client’s clothes. Mickery immediately broke into a sprint and Charlie gave chase – thoughts of what Helen would say if she lost her powering her forward.

Charlie thought the pursuit would be easy, but Mickery was good. She darted across the busy street without hesitation, somehow finding a path through the speeding traffic. Charlie raced after her, determined not to be beaten, but the braking cars impeded her at every turn.

They ducked down a side street. The distance between them was now about a hundred yards and with the absence of human traffic on this quiet road Charlie began to gain on her quarry. Eighty yards, sixty yards, fifty. Closer and closer.

The busy street loomed ahead. Hannah Mickery reached it first and launched herself across it. The beret had by now blown off and her long auburn hair trailed behind her. She reached the other side and without hesitation dived into the welcoming entrance of Marlands Shopping Centre. Charlie was seconds behind.

A sea of schoolchildren, bored and flirty. A security man picking his teeth. A couple of gawky lads in Saints shirts. But no sign of Mickery.

Then a flash of auburn. On the far escalator. Charlie set off in pursuit once more, hurdling potted plants and toddlers as she cranked up her speed. Up, up, up she sprinted – her lungs burning with the exertion. Barging a middle-aged dawdler out the way, Charlie burst on to the mezzanine level.

The red coat. Vanishing into Topshop. No way out from there. Charlie sprinted inside, warrant card already on display as the security guards started to rouse themselves. Finally Charlie would be able to look Helen in the eye – a juicy prize to deliver to her.

Except. This was the wrong red coat. Right shade, wrong wearer. A singleton shopping for a date and somewhat surprised to find herself being manhandled by a sweating female DC.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Shit!’ Charlie was already moving away from her startled victim. She collared the nearest security guard.

‘Did you see a woman in a red coat run past here? Did ANYONE see a woman in a red coat?’

Charlie looked at the sea of blank faces, knowing already that it was hopeless.

Mickery had got away.