The Doll's House - [57]

Immediately Helen thought of Charlie. What had she dragged her into?

‘File?’ Helen queried, keeping her expression as neutral as possible.

‘Don’t be coy, Helen. The only way you could know about the involvement of DI Marsh is from having read the unredacted file.’

‘I don’t recall any file.’

‘Good God, Helen, if that’s the best you can do, you really are for the high jump. Anti-Corruption are going through your flat with a fine toothcomb – when they find the evidence they need, then you’ll be gone. And not a moment too soon.’

Helen stared at her superior. There was something different about her today. Even at the point of her triumph, she looked weary and empty. As if her own hatred had eaten her from within. She had laid a complex trap to catch Helen and it had worked. So why did she seem so dispirited?

‘Was any of it true? The fight in Northampton? Robert’s association with the police?’

‘I’m afraid that’s classified.’

And no doubt would remain so. Helen’s anger was spiking now, the thought of how her personal life – her deepest vulnerabilities – had been used against her made her blood boil. She had underestimated Harwood’s thirst for vengeance and was reaping the reward for her complacency.

‘Obviously while this is ongoing, you will be suspended from the investigation -’

‘I don’t think so.’

Harwood laughed.

‘I admire your balls, Helen, but I’m not sure that’s your decision really. Once we’re done here, I am due to meet Fisher to rubberstamp your suspension. He’s across all this obviously -’

‘Then no doubt he’ll be aware what a foolish move that would be. From a publicity view, it wouldn’t play well, would it? You suspended me before and look what happened – I found Ella Matthews while you were running round in circles. I reminded Emilia Garanita of that the other day – I’m sure the Evening News would take a dim view of Southampton Central’s most successful police officer being suspended with such a major investigation in play. I’m sure they would also be interested to hear that I am the victim of a campaign of relentless harassment, despite a total lack of evidence against me, because of your personal vendetta against me -’

‘Are you serious? You were caught red-handed!’ Harwood fired back.

‘A hypothetical conversation between two officers, during which nothing of note was revealed -’

‘You accessed a classified file. In contravention of a direct order.’

‘So where is it?’

For the first time, Harwood paused. Did Helen detect a sliver of doubt?

‘If I took the file it, produce it. Then you can throw the book at me. But until then, I suggest you get back in your box and let me do my job. There’s a young woman’s life at stake and anything – or anyone – who impedes our search for her had better be prepared to face the consequences if things go wrong. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. Or my face attached to that story.’

A long pause. Harwood said nothing but Helen could tell that she had planted a seed of doubt. Harwood would never allow anything to tarnish her public image or professional reputation. Safety first was her motto and Helen knew it.

‘You will stay on the investigation for now,’ Harwood eventually conceded. ‘But you are to cooperate fully with Anti-Corruption. Specifically you will provide me now with all of your passwords and encryption codes, so that the team can fully access your laptops, phones, tablets and more besides. You will also desist from going back to your flat or discussing this with any serving officers. If you disobey any of these orders, in any way, I will have your badge. Is that clear?’

Helen marched down the corridor, still burning with anger. Life constantly surprised her with its inventive sadism, but she had never expected this. How much must Harwood despise her to act in this manner? She was intent on destroying her and yet even now, as Helen’s future at Southampton Central hung by a thread, Helen was filled with a defiant sense of purpose.

Suddenly she knew exactly what she needed to do, if she was to tilt the battle in her favour, once and for all.

93

DS Lloyd Fortune shifted uneasily in his seat. He never liked public appeals and this one was more harrowing than most. Roisin’s smiling face beamed out from the screens behind them, the backdrop to Sinead Murphy’s emotional appeal for information. Sinead had managed three sentences before breaking down and since then progress had been halting. It made for good TV and might jog someone’s memory or stir their conscience, but it was difficult to watch. It was as if Sinead had been gutted like a fish – all her optimism, her strength, ripped from her by the tragic turn of events. The happy memories of Roisin that she now rehearsed seemed to hurt her still further – they were offered to prompt others into coming forward, but Lloyd feared they only served to underline her own guilt and increase her misery.

When she began talking about Kenton, things got worse. Sinead was almost inaudible now because of the heavy sobbing and the onus was on Lloyd to step in. But it was hard to do so without looking unfeeling or callous. Despite his good looks and articulacy, Lloyd was camera shy and hated being in the spotlight. It made him anxious: he was inclined to clam up for fear of making a fool of himself, which he knew from past experience made him look remote or haughty. Whenever he was approached to front poster campaigns designed to draw in new black and ethnic-minority officers to the Force, he tried to wriggle out of it, usually with little success. People seemed obsessed with putting him in the public eye, hence the endless media training, and once again Harwood had insisted he front today’s appeal, despite the fact that really it should be Helen Grace filling his chair.