Eeny Meeny

79

Would she ever stop laughing at them? Mickery and Morten constituted the fifth forced abduction and still the killer didn’t put a foot wrong. Sanderson, Grounds and McAndrew had supervised diligent house-to-house enquiries, hoping to find a witness to this latest abduction. Whittaker had allocated them extra uniformed officers – but all to no avail. Charlie and Bridges had spent the day at the Morten family home supervising the crime scene but not a single shred of forensic evidence had been found. The trio had obviously been drinking champagne – two sedative-laced flutes lay where they had fallen on the floor and the imprint of another was dusted up on the coffee table – but the third glass and the bottle had vanished. Charlie fielded an angry call from Whittaker and was forced to admit she had no positive developments to give him.

Bold to do it in the victim’s home. Sandy’s wife had been abroad visiting relatives, but even so. Was the killer untouchable? It was beginning to look that way. The Morten house was a noisy, stressful place – the forensics circus was in town and there in the background was the wife – Sheila – who refused to go and stay with friends, feeling no doubt that her belated presence there, or at the very least her refusal to desert the family home, would somehow guarantee Sandy’s safe return. It wouldn’t, Charlie knew that, though she obviously couldn’t say anything to the wife. Sandy would return in a body bag or as a traumatized, gibbering wreck. The whole atmosphere was oppressive and as another wave of nausea struck, Charlie hurried outside.

She’d just about made it out of sight when she hurled. A big, feisty regurgitation of her breakfast. Charlie had felt sick all day and in more ways than one. There was something profoundly odd and disquieting about bringing a new life into this dark world. She and Steve had been so looking forward to starting a family, but now Charlie was full of doubts. What right did she have to bring a baby into this? When there was such violence and cruelty and evil all around us. It was a profoundly depressing thought and made Charlie retch again.

As she was wiping herself down, her phone rang. Jaunty and inappropriate. She hurried to answer it.

‘Charlene Brooks.’

‘Help me.’

‘Who is this?’

A long silence, an intake of breath as if the caller were summoning energy to talk, then:

‘It’s… Hannah Mickery.’

Charlie stood bolt upright. It certainly sounded a bit like her. Could it really be?

‘Where are you, Hannah?’

‘I’m outside the Fire Station Diner on Sutton Street. Please come now.’

And with that, she hung up.

Charlie was on the road within minutes. Bridges, Sanderson and Grounds were also on their way there, closely followed by Tactical Support. It was clear to everyone that this might be a trap. But pregnant or not, Charlie was going to walk into it. As they neared Sutton Street, the blues and twos went off and Tactical Support slipped round the block to watch discreetly as per usual.

Mickery looked as if she could barely stand. Her hair was matted, her red coat stood out garishly next to the deathly pallor of her skin and she seemed to be leaning against the wall for support. Charlie was shocked by her transformation. She hurried towards her, her eyes flitting left and right for any sign of danger. Oddly now that she was here facing Mickery she felt more vulnerable than she’d expected. Visions of the baby growing inside her flashed in her head and then were shoved back down. She must concentrate.

Mickery collapsed into her arms. Charlie held her for a moment, running her eyes over her. She was in a pitiful state. What had she been through to be reduced to this?

Charlie called an ambulance and as they waited for it to arrive, she attempted to glean what she could from the terrified therapist. But Mickery wouldn’t talk to her. It seemed as if she had instructions and was intent on following them to the absolute letter. Mickery, who had once seemed so cocky, now looked scared.

‘Grace.’ Mickery’s voice was cracked and quiet.

‘Sorry?’

‘I will only talk to Helen Grace.’

And that was the end of the conversation.