The Doll's House

39

Helen stared down at the file, her heart breaking. She hadn’t slept a wink and had been on edge all morning, waiting for the file she’d requested on Robert to be faxed through. But now she had it in her hand, she was no further on and her fragile hopes lay in tatters.

There had been some kind of assault in Northampton city centre, which had resulted in Robert’s arrest and detention. A fight outside a pub between Robert and another individual over a trivial matter. The injuries were relatively minor – thank goodness – but that was about as much as Helen could make out. The rest of the two-page report had been heavily redacted, great swathes of it blacked out, so that only scant details of the incident remained. There was no clue as to whether charges had been brought, where Robert was living or what had happened to him. It promised so much but, obscuring its precious content from view, delivered only bitter frustration.

‘I know it’s an unusual request, but in the circumstances a justified one.’ Helen’s tone was even and controlled, as she addressed Ceri Harwood.

‘But why, Helen? To what end?’

Helen wanted to say, ‘I would have thought that was bloody obvious’, but swallowed her derision.

‘He’s been off the radar for nearly a year now. No contact with his parents, no benefits collected, no emails, nothing. I’d like to find out if he’s ok, where he’s living – for their sakes, as much as my own.’

‘I understand, Helen, of course I do. But you know the rules. The unredacted file is classified.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know why – that’s Northamptonshire police’s business, not ours – but even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t need to remind you of this, surely.’

‘I know the protocols for undercover work,’ Helen replied, just about keeping her voice steady. ‘But I would argue that this is a special case. He’s a young man with no support network -’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘He doesn’t have any contacts in Northamptonshire, any relatives to turn to -’

‘It sounds like he’s been there for nearly a year. Time enough to make friends, put down roots -’

‘Oh come off it,’ Helen spat back, finally losing her temper. ‘When he left here he was in pieces. He’d just found out his mother was a serial murderer. His adoptive parents’ lives had been turned upside down, he was full of anger, grief, resentment… He wasn’t in a frame of mind to “make friends”.’

The last phrase dripped with sarcasm, which Helen instantly regretted, as she saw Harwood’s expression harden. Harwood was her only hope here – she had to keep her onside.

‘I don’t wish to appear aggressive or disrespectful, but you must understand that I have to find him. It was my fault he left -’ Helen continued quickly.

‘You didn’t out him, Emilia Garanita did,’ Harwood replied coolly.

‘To get at me. I feel responsible, which is why I’m asking for your help here. Every day since he disappeared I’ve been expecting the worst. He has nothing to live for, no one to care for him, no reason to go on. I know it’ll cause a fuss, that it goes against well-established protocols, but you can make this happen. So help me. Please.’

Helen had never been so open or vulnerable in front of her superior before. Harwood looked at Helen, then rose and walked round her desk. She put a comforting arm around her and instantly Helen knew she had lost.

‘I hear your pain and I sympathize. But I cannot compromise ongoing operations out of sentiment. I’m sorry, Helen, my answer has to be no.’

Helen stalked away from Harwood’s office. She had the distinct impression that Harwood had enjoyed slamming the door in her face, despite the mock sympathy she ladled on as a sop to Helen’s feelings. It left Helen with so many unanswered questions. What had Robert got himself mixed up in? Was he assisting the police? They had taken the trouble to redact any details of his place of residence, job, acquaintances, which strongly suggested that they wanted to protect him. But why? Was he an asset? If so, how had he come to their attention – as a witness or an informant? Helen’s mind was running riot with a dozen competing scenarios, each as disquieting as the last.

Marching into the incident room, Helen ran straight into DC Sanderson – the latter had clearly been waiting for her boss to arrive. Her news sent Helen’s mood plummeting yet further.

‘The DNA from Nathan Price’s van isn’t Ruby Sprackling’s. And SOC can’t find any traces of his DNA in Ruby’s flat, so…’

In her characteristically gentle way, Sanderson was telling Helen that they had nothing. Was Price innocent or just a very canny operator? It made no difference now – they would have to let him walk.