Eeny Meeny

96

The Glock felt snug in her hand. It had been a while since Helen had held a gun but it felt powerful and reassuring to be gripping one now. She signed it out and moved on to pick up her assigned ammunition. On the request sheet, she’d put that it was for personal protection given the possible threat to her life. But was it? Or was there a darker need pushing her to arm herself now?

Protocol decreed that she no longer work alone given the threat level, but this wasn’t a journey she could share with another, so she lied, saying she was required at regional HQ to brief them on the unfolding situation. The team bought it, but others weren’t so easily fooled – as Helen sped north, she noticed Garanita’s red Fiat purring along behind her. Not too obvious – she wasn’t an amateur – but obvious enough. Helen felt anger surge inside her and she pulled the throttle back hard. She shot through the 40 mph zone at over 70, challenging her civilian pursuer to follow her. Thankfully Emilia saw the hopelessness of breaking the law in pursuit of a copper, so gave up the chase. Once out of sight, Helen did a U-turn, heading back towards the ring road and thence towards London.

The list of Helen’s childhood haunts was a short one and once she’d discovered that Chatham Tower was scheduled for demolition, she’d decided to head there first. Given Suzanne’s MO, this was the perfect place to use. It had to be significant. Funny how she kept thinking of her as Suzanne, as if this were somehow less painful than using her real name. That said, Helen herself had comfortably inhabited her new name now – she had chosen the name Grace because of its redemptive associations and Helen because of her maternal grandmother – and it would feel profoundly odd and unsettling to have anyone call her by her real name now.

Helen realized she was driving at 95 mph and eased off on the throttle. She must try and stay calm. Helen had no idea how this game was designed to end, but she must keep her wits about her if she was to end it on her terms.

She realized now that for a long time she had been in denial, repeatedly pushing away the thought that her sister could be involved in the killings. She hadn’t communicated with her in over twenty-five years and that was the way she’d liked it. Out of sight and out of mind. But when she’d seen the forensic report from Sandy Morten’s house, she could deny it no longer. Forensics had found a compromised element of DNA, a fragment of a fingerprint. They’d managed to lift something of it and as it seemed to match Helen’s DNA sequence, they’d signed it off as hers. They always do this to avoid wild-goose chases prompted by police carelessness at crime scenes. But there was just one problem. Helen had never been to Sandy Morten’s house. This anomaly had been overlooked – but to Helen it had leapt off the page, confirming all her very worst fears.

They were now in the shabbier suburbs of South London. Before long, Chatham Tower came into view. It was designed as a sixties Utopia, but was now earmarked for demolition. The dream had turned sour. Arrow Security, who kept the site secure, had been contacted but even so Helen had to wait for someone to arrive with the key. The grumpy guard unlocked the wooden site door, whilst Helen quizzed him about security breaches to the wooden boards that surrounded the derelict building. He insisted there hadn’t been any – kids were too busy stabbing each other at the local shopping centre to bother coming out here – but even so Helen did a full tour of the perimeter fence probing for gaps or weaknesses. Eventually, she conceded it was secure and they headed inside. Could someone scale the boards with a ladder? Possibly.

The lift was off limits, so they walked to the eleventh floor, Helen marching, her companion trudging behind. Before she knew it, Helen was standing outside number 112. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself as the security guard tried the door. It wasn’t locked and swung gently open. He was about to enter when Helen stopped him.

‘Wait here.’

The security man looked surprised, but relented:

‘Knock yourself out.’

And without another word, Helen stepped into the flat and disappeared from sight, swallowed up by the darkness inside.