She had Peter’s work details, email addresses and most intriguingly a work schedule for him, though irritatingly this was from after Peter had returned to work, so it couldn’t in any way be linked to his abduction.
The computer was a harder nut to crack. Hannah had been asked to volunteer her password, but had refused, so they’d had to do it the hard way. People think these things are secure but they are not and although they should strictly have waited for the relevant paperwork, Helen decided to press on and the IT guys soon opened up her system.
Charlie had done most of the legwork, so sat in as Helen navigated her way through the files on Hannah’s MacBook Air. Most of it was dull – business and home admin – but a treasure trove was lurking inside. Hidden away from view in the computer’s Finder was a locked file, simply named ‘B’. Tantalizing… but again it didn’t take long to open.
Helen sat bolt upright as she saw what it contained. A word-for-word transcript of Amy’s formal statement, as given to Helen in the custody suite. Helen’s eyes narrowed, disbelieving. She clicked on the RealPlayer icon that was also in the ‘B’ file and her worst fears were realized. There in perfect definition was the video footage of the traumatized Amy giving her statement to Helen. Whoever she was – whatever she was – Hannah clearly had a copper onside. A copper who had given her this footage. But for what end?
Charlie exhaled loudly. The investigation had taken an important, but potentially devastating, lurch forward. Was this corruption? Collusion? Or was a cop somehow involved in these killings?
‘Shut this down. And not a word to anyone.’
Charlie nodded, so Helen got up and quietly, discreetly, went off to talk to her superior.
Her head was full of fog. She struggled to her feet groggily, then shivered. Her vision was still hazy, but she could smell the damp and the chill went straight through her. Where was she?
Slowly images pushed into her mind – but each one stabbed like the worst hangover pains and she had to sit down again. The floor was hard and unforgiving. She remembered the van, Cyn, Caroline… She looked at her watch and did a double-take. Had she really slept for over twenty-four hours?
The sound of retching made her look up. And there was Caroline. She’d just been sick and was now crying into her own vomit.
Get a grip. Wake up. But this wasn’t a dream. This was too weird to be made up. Had Cyn brought her here? Where was Cyn? Martina shouted out, but received only a dull echo in response. They were in some kind of cellar – a brick arched vault gloomily illuminated by an old lantern. Poky and rotting – the forgotten box room of some big house perhaps. It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense.