Amy was the picture of truculence, clearly unhappy to be forced back into her nightmare. She had actually been asleep – a rare occurrence – and Helen had to work very hard to warm her up. Slowly, as Amy came to realize that maybe she wasn’t being cast as the bad guy, she started to rally, answering Helen’s questions honestly and openly. Amy had never been in trouble with the cops and had certainly never met Helen before. Had Sam ever got into trouble? Not that she knew of. He wanted to be a lawyer and was always very clear that one brush with the law could put paid to his chosen career. Some people had thought he was a bit dull as a result, but Amy had valued his solidity and reliability. He had always been there for her – until she had shot him in the back.
Amy was clamming up again – her guilt once more forcing its way into her consciousness, dragging her down to the bottom again. Her mother wanted to accompany her to her bedroom, but Helen insisted she and her husband stay to answer her questions. Diane Anderson was terse in her response and for once Helen’s patience snapped, threatening her with arrest unless she sat down and did as she was told. She complied and for the next thirty minutes Helen peppered the couple with questions about their lives. Had they ever been in trouble with the law? Had they ever met Helen before in any capacity? But with the exception of a drink-driving offence by the husband, Richard, three years ago, there was nothing. What about a connection to Ben? Or Anna and Marie? Helen probed but she knew it was hopeless – they came from completely different backgrounds and moved in different worlds.
Richard Anderson showed her out. She had turned up late at night and blotted her copybook with them for no tangible gain. There must be a connection – Helen was sure of that – but for now it remained as elusive as ever.
She was locking up her bike in the station car park when she heard footsteps coming up behind her. She flinched when she felt an arm on her shoulder, but there was no need, she sensed who it was.
Mark had left countless messages on her mobile. He was worried about her.
‘You ok?’
It was a hard question to answer, so Helen simply nodded.
‘You shot off so quickly from Marie’s flat. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.’
‘I’m fine, Mark. I was shaken at the time, but I’m ok now. I just needed a bit of time to myself.’
‘Sure, sure.’
But he wasn’t sure. She was so brittle, yet so remote. She’d been in tears at the house, which had shocked everyone, but now she was back to her usual elusive self. He didn’t think she was a primal screamer, he’d never seen her at the gym, she had no boyfriend, husband or children, so what was her release? At least he was obvious – going for the booze. She was just a bloody enigma, refusing to give away anything of herself. It frustrated the hell out of him.