Eeny Meeny

63

Mickery was saying nothing. She and Helen had been staring at each other across the interview table for over an hour now, but still she wouldn’t reveal where she had been.

‘It was all perfectly innocent,’ Mickery said, just about suppressing a smile.

‘So why the disguise? The chase? A police officer ordered you to stop and you didn’t. I should throw you in jail for that alone.’

‘I was seeing a client,’ Mickery retorted, ‘and I didn’t feel it was right to bring the local constabulary down on their heads. They’ve got problems enough as it is, believe me.’

‘But that’s just it – I don’t.’

Mickery just shrugged – she clearly couldn’t give two figs what Helen thought. Her lawyer flanked her, looking equally smug. The clock ticked by. A minute of silence. Two minutes. Then:

‘Let’s start again from the beginning. Where were you yesterday afternoon? Who were you meeting and why?’ Helen barked.

‘I’ve said all I’m going to say. I cannot and will not break professional confidences.’

Now Helen was really riled.

‘Do you have any idea how serious this is?’

The two women eyeballed each other.

‘You’re the prime suspect in a multiple-murder case. When I arrest and charge you, I am going to be pushing for five life sentences. Without parole and without any chance of reduction. You are going to serve every day of the rest of your life in prison and any minor, fleeting concessions you receive will be because of what you do now. Right here in this room. If you tell me why you did it – why you killed Martina and all the others – then I can help you.’

‘Martina?’ Mickery queried.

‘Don’t be cute. I want answers, not questions. And if you don’t start giving me some in the next five seconds, then I am going to arrest you and charge you with five counts of murder.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re not going to arrest me. You’re not going to charge me. Which is why I’m going to tell you absolutely nothing.’

Helen stared at her – was this woman for real?

‘There’s no one else in the frame, Hannah. You are the prime suspect. And you are going to be charged. There’s no escape this time.’

‘I’m guessing you don’t play poker, Inspector, otherwise your bluff would be rather better than this. Let me help you out.’

Helen wanted to punch her between the eyes and Mickery knew it. She continued:

‘You are currently hunting a serial killer. Let’s not dress it up as anything else. But more than that you are hunting a very rare kind of serial killer. A woman. How many female serial killers can you name? Eileen Wournos, Rose West, Myra Hindley. It’s not a long list. Which is why they are box office. Everybody loves female serial killers. The tabloids, film-makers, the guy on the street – everyone is fascinated by women who kill again and again. But this one…’ She paused for effect. ‘… this one really takes the cheese. Why? Because she’s so canny, so organized yet so elusive. How does she target her victims? And why? Does she hate both of the people she abducts or just one? How can she predict the outcome? Does she care who lives and who dies? And why them? What have they done to her? Is she the first serial killer in history to get off on those who survive her crimes, rather than through those who are killed? She’s a one-off, unique. And she’s going to be an utter sensation.’

Helen said nothing. She knew Mickery was baiting her and wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of reacting. Mickery smiled and continued:

‘There are several endings to this extraordinary story. But the best one – and the one every tabloid hack and reader wants – is that the dogged cop gets her girl in the end. And then we can all have fun poring over her mugshot and reading the twelve-page special full of gory details, “expert” opinions and thinly disguised prurience.’

Mickery was warming to her theme.

‘The ending that no one wants – you especially – starts with a blunder. The arrest of an innocent, respected professional’ – she stressed that word – ‘which results in the story breaking before the killer is caught. The tabloids are up in arms, the man on the street is terrified and suddenly you’ve got millions of eyes scanning millions of faces, driving the killer underground whilst flooding your incident room with a thousand bogus leads. The killer’s vanished, you’re hung out to dry and I get a very hefty compensation payout with which I buy that boat I’ve always wanted.’

She paused for effect.

‘So the question you have to ask yourself, Inspector,’ she continued, ‘is are you absolutely sure I did it? And can you prove it? Because if you’re not, if you can see the massive blunder you are about to make, then there’s still time for you to stop. To make the right move. To let me go and get back to your investigation. I am innocent, Helen.’

Her name had never sounded so much like a ‘fuck you’. It was a good speech no doubt about it. And it raised some pertinent questions. Could Mickery really be so pathologically unhinged and yet so convincing and articulate at the same time? Could someone with such a firm grasp on how others thought and felt really be so sociopathic?

‘Am I free to go?’ Mickery couldn’t help rubbing it in.

Helen regarded her for a minute, then said:

‘I won’t be pressing formal charges over the matters we’ve discussed in this room yet – matters which I shouldn’t have to remind you must remain confidential as our investigation is ongoing.’

Mickery smiled and gathered her things to go.

‘But you did fail to stop when asked to by a police officer and I think that warrants a night in the cells at the very least, don’t you?’

And with that Helen left, leaving Mickery speechless for once.