The woman’s face loomed large on the screen now. Was this their first view of their serial killer? They studied the face closely. She was thin-faced, with a prominent-ish nose, blonde bob, well dressed, respectable. She could be the woman in the e-fits. It was so hard to tell with these things – you so wanted them to fit that sometimes your eyes played tricks on you.
As they drove to the Anderson household, Helen felt a profound sense of relief. And something else too – hope. Finally, she had something to work with. She stared at the printed image of the suspect as Mark drove – who was this woman?
They were let in to the Anderson household with the usual bad grace. Funny how victims come to resent the police intrusion, even when they need your help. Seated in the living room, Helen wasted no time getting to the point.
‘We have an image of a suspect, Amy. And we’d like you to take a look at it.’
Now there was an interest in their presence. Helen noted Amy’s parents exchanging a look – were they beginning to hope too? She handed Amy the print-out. She examined it closely, then closed her eyes, willing the memory of her abductor back into her mind’s eye. Silence. She opened her eyes again. Stared at the image once more.
A long, long silence, then:
‘It could be her.’
Could?
‘How sure are you, Amy?’
‘Hard to say. I’d have to see her in the flesh to be sure, but it definitely could be her. The hair, the nose… yes, it could be her.’
It wasn’t perfect but it was enough for now. Amy handed the picture to her parents, who were only too eager to see the bitch who’d kidnapped their daughter. Helen wanted to snatch the image off them – this was no time for pass the parcel.
‘I know her.’ Diane Anderson’s voice rang out, crisp and clear.
For a moment, no one said anything. Then Helen said:
‘You’re saying you’ve seen her before?’
‘I’ve met her. I’ve spoken to her. I know who she is.’
Helen looked at Mark – a link between the victims at last. It had taken them a long time – too long – to get here. But now they had a prime suspect. Helen felt a surge of adrenalin fire through her and for a brief moment remembered why she’d become a cop in the first place.
Her excitement was short-lived. As she exited the Anderson house, Helen clocked Emilia Garanita’s tell-tale red Fiat, parked sideways across the drive, blocking her departure. And here was Emilia approaching, a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile pasted on her face.
‘Do you know what you get for obstructing police business, Emilia?’
‘But I can’t talk to you any other way, can I?’ she replied innocently. ‘You never return my calls and your media liaison people know less about the case than I do, so what’s a girl to do?’