Pop Goes the Weasel

Epilogue
120

Helen paused outside the Guildhall, pulling her compact from her bag to check her appearance. Two weeks had passed since Ella had died, and though Helen’s face still looked tired and drawn, she had lost the look of blank horror that had characterized her expression for days afterwards. She had hardly been outside her flat since it happened and suddenly she felt sick with nerves. The Guildhall usually hosted bands and comedians but today it was packed with Hampshire Police’s finest, all gathered together to honour outstanding officers – Helen amongst them. She could think of easier ways to ease herself back into normal life and her strong instinct was to turn tail and run.

As soon as she stepped inside the building, however, she was assailed by an enormous wave of goodwill. Smiles, pats on the back, rounds of applause. The team from the seventh floor swarmed round her, hailing the return of their leader, welcoming her back into the family. They had obviously been worried about her, fearing perhaps that she would never return, and Helen was moved by their affection and concern. As she received their congratulations she realized that, though she might constantly castigate herself for her failings, to Charlie, Sanderson and the rest she was a hero.

Her nerves grew steadily as each award was given out, then finally it was her turn. An official police commendation handed over in person by the Deputy Chief Constable himself. Standing next to him, waiting patiently to shake Helen’s hand, was Detective Superintendent Harwood.

‘Well done, Helen.’

Helen nodded her thanks, before leaving the stage. As she walked back to her seat in the front row, a feeling of quiet satisfaction crept over her. The coverage of the case had been extensive during the last fortnight – pictures of Helen carrying Amelia from the building had been splashed across the front pages of all the newspapers, both local and national. Helen’s team had pinned the cuttings up on the wall with pride, saving centre spot for the profile pieces in the Southampton Evening News, which went out of its way to praise Helen’s character and actions. Harwood’s name had been all but absent from the reports, a forgotten presence. Maybe there was some justice after all.

The team virtually carried Helen from the Guildhall on their shoulders. Awarding themselves an extended lunch break, they frogmarched her to the Crown and Two Chairmen to celebrate the conclusion of this high-profile investigation. Coppers are strange beasts – even though they knew Helen didn’t drink, there was no question of going anywhere other than this much visited pub. Helen didn’t mind, it was comforting in its familiarity and she was pleased to see the team looking so happy and carefree again.

Finishing her drink, Helen slipped off to the loos, keen to have a moment by herself away from the adulation and praise. But her ordeal wasn’t over yet.

‘Friends?’

Emilia Garanita. She had been there at the commendation ceremony and here she was again. Helen’s shadow.

‘What is it with you and toilets, Emilia?’ Helen replied.

‘You’re a hard woman to get on your own.’

Helen said nothing. She had called a truce with her nemesis in the immediate aftermath of the case, agreeing not to charge the reporter with attempting to blackmail a serving police officer and worse, in return for a promise not to pursue or expose baby Amelia as she grew into her new life. Helen knew there would be endless dissections of the Matthews family – as Alan’s brutality and perversions were explored in endless column inches – but she wanted to protect the innocent. Emilia had honoured the deal, keeping the spotlight firmly on Alan Matthews, whilst simultaneously lavishing praise on DI Grace and her team in double-page spreads, but it cut little ice with Helen. She had made the deal with Emilia for pragmatic reasons. As for the rest of it – particularly the callous dismantling of Robert’s life – she would not forgive, nor would she forget.

‘I’m pleased we’ve come to an arrangement,’ Emilia continued, breaking the silence, ‘as I would like us to go on working together in the future.’

‘Not jetting off to London?’

‘I’m working on it.’

Clearly Emilia’s scoop hadn’t quite earned her the dream move she was after, but Helen resisted the temptation to put the boot in.

‘Well, good luck with that.’

Helen made to leave but Emilia stopped her.

‘I’d like this to be a fresh start for us and… well, I wanted to say sorry.’

‘For tracking me? Threatening me? Or for ruining a young man’s life?’ Helen countered.

‘For being unprofessional.’

Typical Emilia, Helen thought. Defiant even in apology.

‘I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.’

It wasn’t much but Helen knew it would still cost Emilia to say it. She accepted her apology and left. Emilia was keen to buy her a drink to cement their détente, but Helen demurred. Pubs weren’t her natural habitat and she didn’t feel much like celebrating.

Besides, there was somewhere she needed to be.