It was said with real bitterness.
‘I tried, believe me. I really, really tried. But there was no trace of you. Or Sandy. You’d vanished off the face of the earth. I don’t know if this killer is human… or a bloody ghost. But we couldn’t pick up her trail. I am so, so sorry. If I could have swapped places with you I would have, believe me…’
‘Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
The question hung in the air. Whittaker knew he only had moments left – everything was telling him to leave.
‘I want you to tell me it never happened. I want to have never met you. I want never to have fallen in love. I want you to have kept your killer to yourself. I want it all to go away. I wish I wasn’t here any more. I wish I didn’t exist.’
Whittaker stared, lost for words in the torrent of her despair.
‘But you needn’t worry. I’m not going to tell them about you. I’m going to keep quiet. I’m going to do as I’m told and then maybe I will live.’
She returned to her bed and faced the wall.
‘Thank you, Hannah.’
It was inadequate, grossly so, but time was pressing, so Whittaker slipped out. Moments later, the young PC reappeared, stinking of cheap cigarettes and Whittaker slapped him on the back and departed. Back in his office, Whittaker exhaled. The original plan had been to retire together with millions in the bank. That was screwed now, but at least he was in the clear. It had all gone horribly, horribly wrong, but he was going to be ok. He’d been up all night and was shattered, but as the sun began to rise, Whittaker felt a surge of energy and optimism.
Which is when there was a sharp knock on the door. Before he had a chance to respond, Helen entered – flanked by two officers from Anti-Corruption.
Stephanie Bines was nowhere to be found. Itinerant workers are particularly hard to locate, especially those who work in bars. It’s a promiscuous profession in which the promise of a few bucks more prompts people to jump ship all the time. Stephanie Bines had worked in most of the bars in Southampton – she was attractive and funny, but also flighty and temperamental – and no one had seen her for a while.
After the court case, she’d considered going back home, but she’d run away from Australia for a reason and the idea of returning there with her tail between her legs – still broke and unattached – didn’t appeal. So she hopped from Southampton to Portsmouth and did what she did before – work, drink, screw and sleep. She was a piece of driftwood washed up on the south coast.