With each passing minute, Ruby’s anxiety had spiked still higher. She’d pulled hard on her inhaler, but it had little effect, so abandoning caution, she’d thrown herself into a full-on assault on the steel door.

Her blows rained down on the lock, producing small dents but failing to make any significant impression. Ruby wound her arm back and redoubled her efforts, bringing her weapon down with sudden, savage force. She heard a crack and for a brief, thrilling moment thought she’d been successful – until she looked down and saw the half-brick in her hand. The other half lay broken and useless on the floor nearby.

Dropping the remnants, Ruby slid down the cold door to the floor, resting her head against the metal. There was no way out. She was beaten, locked for good or ill into this absurd pantomime with a man who abducted women, imprisoned them and then what? What had he done to those girls? If he’d let them go, surely she would have heard about it on the news or whatever, so what … ?

Should she ask him? Ask him what happened? Would she gain anything by confronting him? Probably not, but even as Ruby dismissed this thought, another idea rose in its place. She pushed it away immediately, too scared to test it unless it proved fruitless, but it forced its way back into her mind again, demanding to be heard. It made her feel sick to even contemplate it, but what choice did she have? She had to find a way of getting her captor onside, if she was to have any chance of escaping certain death.

Climbing to her feet, she gathered up the letters and stuffed them back into their secret cavity. Ramming both halves of the brick into the hole to conceal them again, Ruby pushed the bed up against the wall, returning the room to its normal state.

Sweeping the brick dust from the floor, she spat on the dented lock and rubbed it with her sleeve. It was only slightly dented and if she could remove the livid red-brick dust, perhaps he wouldn’t notice on his return.

Soon the room was back in some kind of order – even the clock was back in pride of place above the bed. There was only one thing left to do now and Ruby hurried over to the chair where her clothes lay. She changed quickly, pausing only at the end when she picked up the battered earrings. She hated these things more than life itself now, but there was no room for weakness, so swallowing her repugnance, Ruby closed her eyes and slipped the dirty hoops through her ears. Sitting down heavily on the bed, she exhaled long and hard. The worst was done.

Now all she had to do was wait.

53

‘Are you completely insane?’

It was a valid question and one Charlie had been expecting. It had taken her two hours of chit-chat and reminiscing to build up the courage to ask her old friend to do something that would cost her her job if it came to light. Predictably, DS Sally Mason’s response was one of shock and anger.

‘I’ve only been here six months and it’s a bloody good job. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.’

Charlie was momentarily lost for words. She knew Sally loved her job, but still the strength of her reaction surprised her. They had gone through police training together, surviving the experience largely thanks to their shared sense of humour and plenty of corner-cutting. They were coppers, not form-fillers, happy to break the rules where necessary. But sometime in the interim, Sally had become a responsible grown-up, a career copper with a decent rank, position and pension. Sally was right – she would be a fool to risk all that.

‘I know and I feel awful suggesting it but there’s no other way –’

‘Do you really want to skewer both our careers in one go? What have you done, Charlie, that would make you risk that?’

‘It’s not me …’ Charlie continued, then hesitated to go further.

Sally regarded her. Now she looked intrigued, rather than angry.

‘Then who?’

‘Helen Grace.’

‘The Helen Grace?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you’re off work. And she can go through the normal channels, right?’

‘She’s being blocked. It’s … it’s about her nephew, Robert Stonehill.’

Now Sally was silent. The name was familiar to most coppers, if only through newspaper reports and anecdotes.

‘His name was mentioned in a crime report – a fight in Northampton city centre – but the original’s heavily redacted. No one’s helping her, everyone wants her to just forget him, but he’s her flesh and blood, the only family she has. So I know it’s a lot to ask – too much – but I hope you can see I had no choice. Despite everything, she’s … she’s the best copper I’ve worked for and one of the best people I know.’

Sally looked at Charlie for a long time. Then finally she said:

‘If I do this for you, it’ll be on one condition. You never got it from me – on pain of death, you never got it from me.’

‘Of course. I’d rather quit the Force than get you into trouble because of me.’

‘And if it does lead somewhere,’ Sally continued, ‘you make sure Helen Grace does right by me.’

So that was it. The power of Helen’s reputation had people queuing up to join Hampshire CID – far more than could ever be accommodated. First-rate support officers, however, were at a premium and if Sally fancied the reflected glory of working alongside Helen, then Charlie was sure it could be arranged.

The pair separated shortly afterwards, agreeing to meet an hour later in the McDonald’s opposite the station to make the exchange. As Charlie watched Sally go, she was suddenly full of nervous excitement. Against the odds, she had pulled it off. She had done it. But what would it mean for her and Sally?

More importantly, what would it mean for Helen?

54

‘So tell me all about her. I’m dying to know the details.’

Not for the first time, Ceri Harwood’s heart sank. Stuck in another interminable dinner party, she had tried her best to entertain – regaling her guests with stories of the colourful villains she’d nicked, the surprising scrapes she’d survived, while provoking peals of laughter by threatening to frisk them all for banned substances. It was an act – she was dog-tired and couldn’t be bothered – but she performed it well. It was important for her husband’s firm that the local councillors and business leaders look kindly on him and she was happy to do her bit, but it always ended the same way. People seemed to look past her for something more interesting – and that something was always Helen Grace.

The woman quizzing her was blonde, attractive and good company. Divorced, she ran a local advertising agency and made a lot of money out of it. One in the eye for her unfaithful ex-husband. Ceri had been enjoying their chat together, but as they discussed her police work, Ceri could feel the conversation being steered towards her bête noire.

‘She’s a good copper,’ Ceri replied graciously, ‘if a little unorthodox and prone to hug the limelight. When you’ve achieved a level of notoriety, I’m afraid there is always a part of you that craves adulation and attention. She’s highly effective – don’t get me wrong – but she occasionally forgets that police work is team work.’

Her guest – Lucy – seemed little interested in Helen’s ego or procedural misdemeanours. What she wanted was a blow-by-blow accountof what happened during the fatal shoot-out when Marianne Baines died. Did she really pull the trigger on her own sister? And what about Ella Matthews? Did she die at Helen’s hand? And what was it about this DI that meant she had such a nose for these cases?