Charlie had the distinct impression she was being punished – though what for she couldn’t say. Helen had definitely been ‘off’ with her recently. On several occasions Charlie had been tempted to ask her straight out what was wrong, only to pull back at the last second, concerned that she would come across as paranoid. Yet the feeling remained. Somehow she had irked Helen and perhaps the surveillance job on Mickery’s house was her penance.
Hannah Mickery had hardly left the house since her release from custody. A couple of trips to the grocery store, the newsagent’s, but little more. She hadn’t used her landline at all and her mobile calls had been brief and mundane. Clearly she wasn’t going to let the cloud of suspicion disrupt her working life, hence the visit from a client. The pair had been closeted away for an hour now – Charlie couldn’t help wondering what hang-up, insecurity or peccadillo was being discussed.
Then suddenly there was movement. Charlie sat bolt upright and swung her camera into position. Only to be disappointed. It was just the client leaving her session, sheltering herself from the pelting rain with her ‘cheerful’ yellow umbrella. Charlie sat back down, disgruntled, and watched her go.
You’d have to be a real mentalist to wear that outfit, Charlie thought uncharitably. The purple beret and the red mac – did she think she’d just stepped out of a Prince video? And the heels. They were strippers’ heels, pure and simp-
Which is when Charlie noticed that the woman who’d just left the house wasn’t wearing heels. She was wearing flats.
Charlie was out of the van in a flash, ordering Grounds to the house as she set off after the client. Padding fast but quietly she gained on the woman, but then, with only forty yards to go, the woman half turned. It was only a glimpse but enough for Charlie to know for certain that this was Mickery dressed in her client’s clothes. Mickery immediately broke into a sprint and Charlie gave chase – thoughts of what Helen would say if she lost her powering her forward.
Charlie thought the pursuit would be easy, but Mickery was good. She darted across the busy street without hesitation, somehow finding a path through the speeding traffic. Charlie raced after her, determined not to be beaten, but the braking cars impeded her at every turn.
They ducked down a side street. The distance between them was now about a hundred yards and with the absence of human traffic on this quiet road Charlie began to gain on her quarry. Eighty yards, sixty yards, fifty. Closer and closer.