‘So where is it?’

For the first time, Harwood paused. Did Helen detect a sliver of doubt?

‘If I took the file it, produce it. Then you can throw the book at me. But until then, I suggest you get back in your box and let me do my job. There’s a young woman’s life at stake and anything – or anyone – who impedes our search for her had better be prepared to face the consequences if things go wrong. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Or my face attached to that story.’

A long pause. Harwood said nothing but Helen could tell that she had planted a seed of doubt. Harwood would never allow anything to tarnish her public image or professional reputation. Safety first was her motto and Helen knew it.

‘You will stay on the investigation for now,’ Harwood eventually conceded. ‘But you are to cooperate fully with Anti-Corruption. Specifically you will provide me now with all of your passwords and encryption codes, so that the team can fully access your laptops, phones, tablets and more besides. You will also desist from going back to your flat or discussing this with any serving officers. If you disobey any of these orders, in any way, I will have your badge. Is that clear?’

Helen marched down the corridor, still burning with anger. Life constantly surprised her with its inventive sadism, but she had never expected this. How much must Harwood despise her to act in this manner? She was intent on destroying her and yet even now, as Helen’s future at Southampton Central hung by a thread, Helen was filled with a defiant sense of purpose.

Suddenly she knew exactly what she needed to do, if she was to tilt the battle in her favour, once and for all.

93

DS Lloyd Fortune shifted uneasily in his seat. He never liked public appeals and this one was more harrowing than most. Roisin’s smiling face beamed out from the screens behind them, the backdrop to Sinead Murphy’s emotional appeal for information. Sinead had managed three sentences before breaking down and since then progress had been halting. It made for good TV and might jog someone’s memory or stir their conscience, but it was difficult to watch. It was as if Sinead had been gutted like a fish – all her optimism, her strength, ripped from her by the tragic turn of events. The happy memories of Roisin that she now rehearsed seemed to hurt her still further – they were offered to prompt others into coming forward, but Lloyd feared they only served to underline her own guilt and increase her misery.

When she began talking about Kenton, things got worse. Sinead was almost inaudible now because of the heavy sobbing and the onus was on Lloyd to step in. But it was hard to do so without looking unfeeling or callous. Despite his good looks and articulacy, Lloyd was camera shy and hated being in the spotlight. It made him anxious: he was inclined to clam up for fear of making a fool of himself, which he knew from past experience made him look remote or haughty. Whenever he was approached to front poster campaigns designed to draw in new black and ethnic-minority officers to the Force, he tried to wriggle out of it, usually with little success. People seemed obsessed with putting him in the public eye, hence the endless media training, and once again Harwood had insisted he front today’s appeal, despite the fact that really it should be Helen Grace filling his chair.

Sinead had come to a complete halt now, so finally Lloyd leant over, placing a reassuring arm on hers, while redirecting her attention to the script they had signed off on before the press conference began. Sinead looked at him through sodden eyelashes, then, summoning some last vestige of composure, continued her appeal.

‘Roisin was a beautiful … caring mother and daughter.’

Another long pause, as Sinead drew breath.

‘She has been cruelly taken from us and someone out there knows why. If you have any information about my Roisin’s disappearance … please, please contact the police. She had suffered so much in her short life. A father who abandoned her. A boyfriend who did the same. She deserved so much more from life, but never got it.’

Finally, she looked up from the table and stared right into the nearest TV camera.

‘Don’t let her murder go unpunished.’

94

‘Don’t let her murder go unpunished.’ The blubbering bitch seemed to look directly at him as she said it. He swore violently at her, what did she and her slut of a daughter know about suffering?

The exertion of shouting at the TV brought the pain crashing back again. He was lying on the sofa in the filthy living room, an ice-pack clamped to the back of his head. Empty packets of Naproxin, super-strength Ibuprofen that he’d been prescribed some years earlier, littered the floor. He had taken four times the recommended dose, but it didn’t seem to be making much difference. It was like the worst migraine he’d ever had – a deep, insistent throbbing at the back of the skull.

Worse than all of this, however, was the pain of Summer’s betrayal. How had he been tricked so easily? And so cruelly? She seemed to have returned to him, to want to please him, but actually she was carefully planning her attack, waiting until his heart was open and his guard was down.

Despite the fact that he was concussed, he had dragged her back to her cell by her hair and once there delivered a beating that was savage and unremitting. It shocked him to realize that he had no idea how long it went on for or even if she had survived the attack. Eventually he had run out of steam and then the full extent of her subterfuge became clear. How she had removed the metal strut from the side of the bed, then propped up the bed with one of the chairs to make it look intact, so she could enjoy the element of surprise. What a mug he had been – all those cosmetic purchases from Boots had been designed to lay her hands on something metal. Why had he not seen this?

Rising from the sofa, stuffing two more Naproxin in his mouth, he vowed not to be so naïve again. She had tricked him once – he wouldn’t let her do so again. From now on things were going to be very different.

95

Ruby lay in the darkness. She was sweating and shivering, her body reacting with confusion to the severe blood loss and fractured bones. She had lost consciousness early on in the attack, repeated rabbit punches to her face and neck ending the fight quickly. When she had eventually come to, the pain was kept momentarily at bay by the shock – and horror – of finding that she was still alive. For the first time in her life she truly wished she were dead.

Had he broken her jaw? Her ribs? She couldn’t tell. Everything hurt and everywhere was sticky – cloyed blood clinging doggedly to her mouth, face and hair. Why had he spared her? She had attacked him. Would have killed him if she had had more presence of mind. Would he come back to finish the job?

Suddenly Ruby was pushing herself up. She hadn’t thought to – she was acting on instinct now, the thought of more suffering driving her on. Pain coursed through her – shooting from her rib cage to the very centre of her brain – but she managed to get to her hands and knees. Immediately she vomited, but she was on the move now and paid no heed to that, turning away and crawling towards the bed. It was still propped up by the chair and seemed to offer her sanctuary now. Swiftly she scuttled underneath, pulling the blanket down around her, hiding her from view.