‘He’s bit of a bright spark, isn’t he?’ said Pellacia, closing his office door.
‘He’s asking the right questions,’ Henley answered. ‘But it’s still early days.’
‘It’s been two days. Well, actually’ – Pellacia checked his watch – ‘two days, eight hours and forty-two minutes since you’ve been on this case as an SIO.’
She sat down. ‘Have you called me in here for a check-up?’
‘Don’t say it like that. One, I’m doing my job and two, don’t you think that I would rather be out there than in here? I did hear what you said. Calling me ridiculous.’
Henley tried to ignore the hurt in Pellacia’s tone. She didn’t answer. Her mind flashed back to those late-night conversations in bed, where Pellacia had talked about his career ambitions. Now he had the face of a man who had reached for the largest orange in the tree, only to realise the fruit was bitter.
‘What is it about her?’ Pellacia asked.
‘About who?’
‘The girl. Uzomamaka Darego. Zoe.’
Henley thought about lying to him. To fob him off with the usual line of just wanting to do a good job, but Pellacia knew her too well.
‘Zoe reminds me of her,’ Henley admitted. ‘Melissa Gyimah. I’ve told you about her.’
‘The girl who went missing from your school?’
‘She didn’t just go to my school. I grew up with her. She lived in the flats across the road from my house. The police didn’t bother and the press didn’t bat an eyelid until a 15-year-old white girl went missing. Her face was everywhere. All over the papers, all over the news, but Melissa, we had to do it all ourselves. We were the ones who looked for her and put posters up, and nine months later, I found her.’
‘In the river,’ Pellacia said softly. He knew the story.
‘Zoe reminds me of her, that’s all. Someone dumped her like rubbish. Melissa’s killer was never caught. I don’t want that for Zoe’s family or for Kennedy’s.’
‘It won’t happen.’ Pellacia stepped forward as if he wanted to hug Henley but put his hands in his pockets instead. ‘How have you been otherwise?’
Henley watched Pellacia carefully, trying to work out if he was asking about her professionally or personally. They had blurred the lines so long ago that she could never really tell.
‘Work,’ she said slowly and precisely. ‘It’s fine. What more can I say about working a double murder investigation? The victims’ families, both of them, seem genuine, but you know what families are like; lots of buried secrets.’
‘And nothing stays buried forever. Secrets have a way of coming out.’
‘Like the branding. The symbols.’ Henley picked up a packet of yellow Post-it notes from the desk, turning it over in her hands. ‘We kept that a secret and now… someone knows.’
‘Benefit of the doubt… It could be a coincidence.’
Henley smiled tightly. ‘We both know that it’s not. Someone has talked. We just need to work out who, which means that I need to see Olivier.’
‘Excuse me. Why? You know what, don’t answer that. For fuck’s sake. There must be another way.’
‘There isn’t. I won’t lie, I’d rather not be seeing him, but I don’t think that I’ve got much of a choice. Someone is using his MO right down to carving his symbols into the bodies.’
Pellacia turned his back and picked up the phone.
‘Stephen, don’t turn your back on me. What are you doing?’
‘What you’ve asked me to. I’m calling the prison liaison officer, whoever the fuck that is.’
‘This can’t wait.’
‘I know. If I can’t get you in there tonight, then one way or another, you’re seeing him tomorrow morning.’
Henley ran hard. She could see him just in front of her, sprinting across the heath. She could hear Pellacia’s voice shouting out, ‘Stop! Police!’ Sharp jolts of pain shot down her shins, but she ran faster, ignoring the metal rings of the handcuffs banging against her ribs. She lost him for just a second as her breathing grew more rapid. The exhaust fumes pushed down her throat, when suddenly he stopped, turned towards her and ran—
‘No, no, no, no,’ Henley murmured before she jolted awake. The back of her vest was soaked and clung to the cotton sheet under her. Sweat rivered between her breasts. She tried to kick off the bedsheets entangled in her legs. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see Rob lying on his back, mouth slightly open, snoring and oblivious to her anxiety. The green digits on the clock on the bedside table flashed to 3.48 a.m.
Henley pulled off her vest and got out of bed. She thought it had stopped. The nightmares and the panic attacks that had consumed her for months. Her eyes burned with tears as fear gripped her in the bathroom. She pulled off her shorts and turned on the shower.
‘No…’ Henley said as she felt the warm stream of urine leave her and run down the inside of her leg. Henley flushed with shame, reached for a towel, soaked it under the running water and wiped up her piss from the floor. The slow breaking down of her body, telling her that she couldn’t do the job. She threw the damp towel into the wash basket and stepped into the shower. She rested her head against the tiled wall and breathed in the steam.
‘I won’t let it happen,’ she said, water running down her back. ‘I won’t let you break me.’