Hannah Mickery had never been a nail-biter. But her fingers were bitten to the quick now. It was ironic really. A lot of her work had been turning hair-pullers and nail-biters into rational, stable human beings. But now look at her. A gibbering wreck, all sense of self-control eroded by her terrible ordeal.
Where was Grace? This waiting was slow torture. When she’d made the deal with her abductor it had all been so simple. She would do as she was told and then she would be free. Amusing to think that in the brief heady moments after the deal she’d had a flash vision of a life beyond fear and despair. A life in which she could put her ordeal, and more specifically her recovery from it, to good use. To help others. To help herself.
Now that all seemed like arrant nonsense. A feeble flight of fancy and the product of a disordered mind. Perhaps she wouldn’t get to see Grace? Perhaps she would fail? The torture wasn’t over yet.
Then suddenly Grace was in the room. Mickery was filled with elation, even though Grace was visibly startled by her appearance. She was trying to do her sympathetic face, but Mickery felt like an exotic and repulsive creature being gawped at in the reptile house.
Helen for her part was stunned by what she saw. Mickery, cool as a cucumber in previous interviews, looked like one of the crazy ladies you see every day at the soup kitchens. Homeless women who’ve been so battered by life that they look completely unhinged.
‘I don’t want her here,’ Mickery snapped, casting an accusing glance at Charlie.
‘DC Brooks needs to be here as a matter of proced-’
‘She can’t be here. Please.’
Now there was a plaintive tone to her request and tears were threatening. Her whole body seemed to be shaking. With a nod from Helen, Charlie quit the room.
‘What happened to you, Hannah? Are you able to tell me?’
‘You know what happened to me.’
‘I can guess, but I want to hear it from you.’
Mickery shook her head and looked at the floor.
‘You’re not under arrest and I’ve got no intention of bringing charges against you for things that you were forced to do. If you’ve killed Sandy… then tell me where -’
‘Sandy’s not dead,’ Mickery interrupted, ‘at least I don’t think he is. And I didn’t do anything to him.’
‘So where is he? If we can get help to him…’
‘I don’t know. We were in a metal container, a freight container down by the docks I’d guess. I could smell the sea when I was dragged out.’