Eeny Meeny

64

A thousand questions spun around Helen’s head. Was Mickery telling the truth? Maybe Mickery wasn’t the killer – maybe her obsession with these killings was about something completely different: money. Mickery knew that this story was going to be a worldwide sensation when it broke and perhaps she was desperate to use her inside knowledge of the case to get ahead of the pack.

The more Helen thought about it the more it made sense. She was probably already drafting an authoritative account of the killings, complete with psychological insights into the killer’s mindset and bona fide evidence from the police investigation. Her lucky connection with two of the victims had put her on the scent, but she was an ambitious woman and wanted more. When had she made her first approach to Mark? And why him? And where did she get the brass neck to bribe a serving officer to give her chapter and verse on the continuing investigation? If it could ever be shown that her corrupting influence had hampered police attempts to catch the killer, then she would be looking at jail time. That at least was some consolation, Helen thought grimly.

With Hannah cooling her heels in a cell, Helen had a window in which to act. But she would have to do it carefully and by the book. So her first stop was to see Whittaker. As she outlined her case, he sat there grim-faced. They had to take Mark off the investigation obviously, but could they do that without arousing his and others’ suspicions? No – of course not. So they would have to suspend him and charge him. He might of course then go straight to the press out of revenge and a desire for profit. But Whittaker thought that a healthy payoff, perhaps even the retention of his police pension and service payments, might induce him to keep quiet. It had worked before and Mark hardly came from a rich background. Whilst it stuck in Helen’s craw to think about rewarding Mark’s treachery in this way, Whittaker was more of a pragmatist.

‘Do you want me to handle it?’ he asked.

‘No, I’ll do it.’

‘It’s customary for the senior officer to take the lead when disciplining -’

‘Yes, I know and I understand why that’s the case, but I need to know what he’s leaked and to whom. I think I’ve got more chance of getting that if I tackle him alone.’

Whittaker eyeballed her.

‘Do you have some special kind of pull on him?’

‘No, but he respects me,’ Helen said quickly. ‘He knows I don’t bullshit and that if I offer him a deal that it’ll be genuine and offered in good faith.’

Whittaker seemed appeased by that. So Helen departed. She’d never been so glad to get out of his office. Then again, that was the easy bit. The hard part would be facing Mark.

Helen climbed into her car and pulled the door shut behind her. For a moment, the sound of the world with all its cares was muffled. A moment’s peace from a world that kept raining stones on her. Why had she allowed Mark to get so close to her? Why had she chosen him as her sounding board, when he was obviously leaking every last detail of her investigation. She winced as she remembered their chats in the pub, in the incident room, rehearsing theories, considering suspects. Who knows, perhaps there was some hideous caricature of her – the bumbling, ineffectual copper – already taking shape in Mickery’s book. A brilliant phantom of a killer, pursued haplessly by ignorant cops.

Helen cried out in pain and looked down to see her fingernails dug into her palm. She had drawn blood in her frustration and anger. Cursing her stupidity, she tried to regain her focus. Now was not the time to be distracted by what might be. No point fighting imaginary battles. She’d done enough of that in the past. Now it was time to be calm, strong and decisive. Now was the time to act.