But, in deference to her wishes, he had found a couple of sheets of Mylar and made a mirror of sorts. It had only taken him a few minutes to find the reflective sheets upstairs and it set Ruby wondering what kind of job he did. Mylar was used to make those shiny silver helium balloons – was he some kind of children’s entertainer? Did he work in a gift shop?

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, Ruby stared at herself in her ‘mirror’. She was already much thinner, anxiety and the denial of food shedding the pounds quickly. She could see her ribs now – all of them – and her arms looked bony too. Ruby wondered how long she could survive down here and once more visions of escape filled her thoughts. Her scrawny body and the sunken features in her face demanded action. She was beginning to look like one of those poor kids you see on charity appeals.

Her plan was in play and tonight she would see if he had gone for it. The anticipation was horrible. Had he got what she needed? And more importantly, if he had, would she have the courage to see it through?

73

She slipped her key in the lock and teased the door open. She should really have gone back to the station after the discoveries on the beach – to brief Stephen and talk to Media Liaison – but she couldn’t face it. Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding and she just wanted to shut the world out for a while.

Yet again, Helen Grace had made her look a fool. She had argued vigorously not to waste time and resources digging up the beach and though neither she, Helen nor Stephen would ever mention it again, it would be remembered by both. For Helen it would confirm her impression that her boss was a politician and desk jockey rather than a real copper, but more worryingly it would set back her relations with Stephen. He knew her well and had always liked her but lately she had come to question where his loyalties lay. Was he attracted to Helen? Many men were, despite the fact that she was totally unobtainable. Or was he just seduced by her status as the heroic face of Southampton policing? Once more, Helen had proved that she had a nose for the big, career-defining cases. And if she managed to bring in another serial killer it would burnish Stephen’s reputation still further. Leaving her as the bad guy who nearly messed the whole thing up.

Opening the fridge, Ceri Harwood took a large swig of Chardonnay straight from the bottle, then held the chilled glass against her raging head. It felt nice and suddenly all she wanted to do was to find Tim, snuggle up on the sofa and finish the rest of it. This cheering thought roused her to action and she climbed the stairs two at a time. Tim often worked at home and was constantly badgering her to get home early, so they could spend more time together. She seldom obliged – how could she in her position? – but having bunked off work she felt exhilarated by the thought of surprising him with her sudden appearance.

She was halfway up the last flight of stairs to the attic office, when she paused. The office was quiet, but there were noises coming from elsewhere. From their bedroom. She could hear Tim, but also female tones too. Laughing, talking and more besides.

Ceri willed herself to move, but her feet stayed firmly planted to the stairs. What does one do in these situations? Slink away or confront? She wanted to do the former – God she wanted to do that – but some vestige of personal pride now forced her to choose the latter course. Summoning her courage, she marched forward, turned the handle and stepped inside.

The confusion started as soon as she entered. Surprise, then shock, then panicked apologies, as the naked lovers scrambled to make themselves decent. Tim was already halfway across the room, trying to steer her from the bedroom, but she didn’t see him. She had eyes only for his lover. The woman she had been tasked with buttering up on numerous occasions, when she dined at their house. Lucy White.

Shrugging off her husband, Ceri Harwood stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. Her first thought was for the girls – she didn’t want them walking into this – so she found herself texting another school mum to see if she could pick them up. She invented a lame excuse for the sudden emergency, which brought her up short. Is this how it would be now – lying to cover up her hurt and Tim’s transgression? What are you supposed to tell your children in these situations?

Ceri sat down on the hard kitchen chair. None of this felt remotely real, but as she heard the front door shut quietly and Lucy’s gentle footsteps clip-clopping down the steps to freedom, she knew that it was. This day had started badly, got steadily worse and ended in utter horror.

All that she had to look forward to now was the fallout.

74

They were closeted away in a snug at the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes. Helen’s first instinct had been to ask Daniel Briers to come to the station, but she’d thought better of it. Too little privacy and far too formal – she loathed the cheerless beige walls of the relatives’ room, which seemed to sap the strength and optimism of everyone who set foot in it. So though an upmarket eatery was an unusual place to brief Daniel on developments, Helen felt she had made the right choice. Their relationship had already progressed well beyond the customary formality.

Daniel listened carefully as Helen talked him through the discoveries on the beach. She had been light on the detail – alive to the further torment she could see she was inflicting – but the thrust of her message was clear.

‘He’s a serial offender? A … serial killer?’ Daniel closed his eyes as he said the words.

‘That’s our belief.’

‘Good God, what must she have gone through?’

He looked up at her with an expression that was part anguish, part need. Like all relatives in these awful situations, once the worst has been confirmed, Daniel had hoped for a swift conviction and a clear, understandable explanation. A domestic incident. A crime of passion. A hit-and-run. But to imagine your daughter as the victim – the plaything – of a serial killer … that was too much for anyone to take on board.

‘What did he do to them?’

Helen noted how he talked about ‘them’, as if in his mind the new bodies on the beach were somehow divorced from Pippa’s case. She didn’t blame him for that – she’d do exactly the same in his shoes – but to her it was clear that all three women had fallen prey to a prolific and practised killer. The circumstances of their burial, the careful way they had been stripped off all identifying features and most disturbingly the bluebird tattoo that they’d found on all three corpses – it was the same guy.

‘We’re still looking into that,’ Helen replied, avoiding all mention of mortuaries and post-mortems. ‘But there’s no sign he inflicted violence upon them and it doesn’t appear he was sexually motivated –’

‘So, what, he just starved them to death?’

‘I don’t know, Daniel, but we’ll find out.’

Daniel took this in, but said nothing, staring at his feet. Instinctively Helen tried to climb inside his head, imagining the awful situations that were playing out for Daniel – his daughter, alone and scared, facing a slow, lingering death. Hoping against hope that the only person who really loved her – her daddy – would rescue her from a living nightmare. When did she realize that no one was coming?

‘You will catch him, won’t you?’ he said finally, his voice breaking even as he did so.

‘I gave you my word. Pippa will have justice.’