? When there was such violence and cruelty and evil all around us. It was a profoundly depressing thought and made Charlie retch again.
As she was wiping herself down, her phone rang. Jaunty and inappropriate. She hurried to answer it.
‘Charlene Brooks.’
‘Help me.’
‘Who is this?’
A long silence, an intake of breath as if the caller were summoning energy to talk, then:
‘It’s… Hannah Mickery.’
Charlie stood bolt upright. It certainly sounded a bit like her. Could it really be?
‘Where are you, Hannah?’
‘I’m outside the Fire Station Diner on Sutton Street. Please come now.’
And with that, she hung up.
Charlie was on the road within minutes. Bridges, Sanderson and Grounds were also on their way there, closely followed by Tactical Support. It was clear to everyone that this might be a trap. But pregnant or not, Charlie was going to walk into it. As they neared Sutton Street, the blues and twos went off and Tactical Support slipped round the block to watch discreetly as per usual.
Mickery looked as if she could barely stand. Her hair was matted, her red coat stood out garishly next to the deathly pallor of her skin and she seemed to be leaning against the wall for support. Charlie was shocked by her transformation. She hurried towards her, her eyes flitting left and right for any sign of danger. Oddly now that she was here facing Mickery she felt more vulnerable than she’d expected. Visions of the baby growing inside her flashed in her head and then were shoved back down. She must concentrate.
Mickery collapsed into her arms. Charlie held her for a moment, running her eyes over her. She was in a pitiful state. What had she been through to be reduced to this?
Charlie called an ambulance and as they waited for it to arrive, she attempted to glean what she could from the terrified therapist. But Mickery wouldn’t talk to her. It seemed as if she had instructions and was intent on following them to the absolute letter. Mickery, who had once seemed so cocky, now looked scared.
‘Grace.’ Mickery’s voice was cracked and quiet.
‘Sorry?’
‘I will only talk to Helen Grace.’
And that was the end of the conversation.
Her phone was off, the door was locked, she was utterly alone. It wasn’t standard protocol for the senior investigating officer to sever all contact with her team during such an important investigation, but Helen needed some time alone. She needed to think.
She had pulled her own file from HR and was leafing through her professional history, whilst simultaneously surfing the archives of both the