‘What about the vans?’ Whittaker replied, affording Helen little respite.
‘Nothing concrete. Amy’s unsure what make her van was and there are no traffic cameras near her site to help us. Peter’s sure he was abducted in a Vauxhall Movano, but dozens of those are stolen every month in Hampshire alone. It’s red, which helps a bit, but she could have repainted it. As they were picked up in the New Forest and transported via country lanes to Dunston Power Station, we haven’t got any traffic cameras or CCTV footage to help us.’
Whittaker sighed.
‘I hope I haven’t over-promoted you, Helen.’
His tone was even.
‘I had hoped you might take over from me one day… but cases like this can damage careers. We need arrests, Helen.’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘That bitch Garanita has been camping out in the bloody atrium, winding up the rest of the local hacks. A couple of the nationals got in on the act this morning. The idiots in media liaison have a prolapse whenever The Times rings and come running straight to me. What are we telling them?’
‘Sam’s death is being treated as a domestic. We’re not looking for anyone else et cetera. Ben’s death is being spun as an accident. Story is that he and Peter Brightston were at Dunston on firm business, there was a tragic accident and so on. The press seem to be buying it for now.’
Whittaker was silent. He would never admit that his superiors had been roasting his nuts, but Helen knew how it worked. Shit runs up and then runs down harder in cases like these.
‘It may well break at some point, so we could go public if we felt that was the right thing to do. Tell the press there’s a third party involved. Enlist the help of the public -’
‘Too soon,’ Whittaker interrupted. ‘We haven’t got enough. We’d look like imbeciles.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Helen could sense his anxiety – and his displeasure – and was surprised. He was usually cooler than this. She wanted to allay his fears – she’d always been able to do so in the past – but she had nothing to offer here. Whittaker had a tendency to knee-jerk when the pressure was on. And that wasn’t what Helen needed right now. So she worked hard to reassure him – talking him through the vast efforts that were being made to trace the killer – and slowly he began to relax. He had always trusted Helen and if anyone could keep things on track she could. Although someone like Whittaker would never admit it, Helen was exactly the kind of officer that top brass love. Female, teetotal, a workaholic, with no interest in having babies. No danger of alcoholism, back-handers, maternity leave or any other unpleasantness with Helen. She worked like a dynamo and single-handedly boosted their clear-up rate. So even if she did bullshit them occasionally, they would put up with it, because she was up there with the very best.