The Dead Tracks (46 page)

    'That
Megan was pregnant? Yeah, he knew. He was the one that warned Kaitlin off
telling the police about it, remember. Megan might have told him outright, but
it was more likely he found out some other way. Maybe he followed her to a
supermarket, or a walk-in clinic, or a pharmacy. Maybe he saw her buying a
pregnancy kit.'

    The
video jumped, crackled, and more lines drifted down the picture. Markham began
talking again. 'When he called me the next night, I told him we had a problem.
I told him Charlie Bryant knew about Megan and me. I told him about Megan being
pregnant as well, thinking that would be the end of the line for me, and for
Sue. But he wasn't angry.' He frowned. 'He just laughed. And then said,
"Oh, Daniel - that's perfect. Absolutely perfect."'

    'Why
would he be pleased she was pregnant?' I said, pausing the tape. Healy just
shrugged at me. I turned back to the TV. 'It Does explain something, though.'

    'Wh
at?'

    'Why
Charlie - and his father — were killed.'

    'The
kid got too close.'

    I
nodded. We both let that settle, and in the silence

    I
could see Healy's mind ticking over. Eventually he turned back to me: 'Why,
though?'

    'Why
what?'

    'Why
did he start using Markham? He takes five women before Leanne without the help
of Markham. Then he takes three more — Leanne, Megan and Sona —
with
his
help. Why?'

    'Maybe
he wanted to insulate himself.'

    'So
why didn't he do that from the start?'

    I saw
where Healy was going. 'Because of Frank White.'

    'Exactly.
I think Glass was operating just fine on his own until 25 October last year. Five
women already in the bag, no one able to pick up his scent. Then things get
screwed up at the warehouse, Frank White dies, and suddenly he's back to
feeling mortal again. He realizes it only takes one mistake for the whole house
of cards to come down. So he pinpoints Markham.'

    'Because
of his connections to the youth club.'

    'Right.
Glass spots Megan somewhere — in the street, on a bus, somewhere - and follows
her to the youth club. He sees Markham at the club, maybe sees the way Megan
looks at him or something, and he realizes he can use Markham to get at Megan,
without risking more exposure. And there's an added bonus…'

    'Susan
Markham.'

    Healy
nodded. 'Glass Does a bit of background on Markham and finds out not only that
he seems to be in with Megan, but he can be manipulated through his wife.'

    I
glanced from Healy to the television screen and back again. He was looking at
me, no hint of anything in his face now, a mixture of sweat and aftershave
coming off him. Maybe this was how he dealt with emotion: bottled it up, pushed
it down, until one day he couldn't contain it and ended up doing something he
regretted. Like putting his wife in a neck brace. Or arguing with his daughter.
Or telling his boss he was going to rip apart the man who'd taken her.

    When
I started the tape again, it clicked and whirred.

    'If
you're watching this, he's probably killed me,' Markham said, pausing for a
moment. 'I've probably tried to find a way out. I can't take this. I can't see
an end. Leanne, Megan, and then we moved on from the youth club; on to Sona…'
Eye contact with the camera now. 'I know, unless I refuse to do this any more,
it's just going to go on and on, and he's going to keep on using me. And
although…'

    He
stopped. An eye watered. A part of me felt sorry for him; at the way a good man
had been manoeuvred into position against his will. But I couldn't forgive him
for taking those women. Because when you faced darkness, sometimes there wasn't
a light. Sometimes you had to step in blind and have enough faith, enough
fearlessness, to try and find the right way. And the right way for Markham
would have been to fight back.

    On-screen,
he shifted in his seat and he brought out a photograph from under him; from
beneath a leg, or out of an unseen pocket. He held it up to the camera.

    'This
is Sue,' he said. She was pretty: dark, petite, bright eyes. In the photo she
looked almost shy; slightly turned away from the camera, a smile on her face.
She wore a white blouse and a chain around her neck, a silver heart dangling at
her throat. 'Whoever finds this tape, can you tell her something for me? Can
you tell her that, although I know I've done some terrible things, and I know I
don't deserve forgiveness, I'm just…' His voice broke up. 'I'm just so sorry.'

    And
then he got up, walked to the camera — and everything went black.

    Healy
didn't move. When I turned to face him, he was still staring at the black
screen. After a couple of seconds he stirred, glancing at me, a blur in one of
his eyes. Then he looked away.

    'We'll
find him,' I said.

    He
didn't reply. Didn't move.

    'I
promise you—we'll find him.'

    Forty
minutes later, we were nosing along City Road, heading towards a knot of council
houses in King's Cross. In one of them, insulated from the outside world, was
the one who'd got away.

    Sona
was a huge break. A giant rift that should have broken the case the minute she
was found. Instead, everything she'd seen, everything she knew, was hidden
inside the walls of the safe house in which she was being kept. Her family had
watched her disappear, and for a month they'd been waiting for the phone to
ring: news that someone had seen her, mentioned her, any scrap, however small.
But they'd still be waiting in another month. And they might still be waiting
in a year. Because the police weren't going to call them. They were going to
squeeze every ounce of recollection out of her in order to get at Dr Glass -
and then bury the rest in the ground. It made me sick even thinking about it.

    'Her
family don't know she's back?'

    Healy
shook his head. 'No. Just the police.'

    'But
she didn't just magic herself into police custody. Someone must have seen her
when she came up for air. There must be witnesses. So where are they?'

    He
glanced sideways at me. 'You been following the news?'

    And
then it hit me.

    I
remembered the story I'd seen in passing twice over the past week: once in the
cafe near Newcross Secondary; and once through the windows at the front of
Liz's house.
Woman found floating in the Thames.

    'That
was Sona?'

    He
nodded.

    'But
I thought she'd been returned to her family?'

    'So
Does the rest of the world.'

    I could
feel bile rising in my throat and anger tightening in my muscles. 'It's all a
lie?'

    'The
bit about finding her wasn't. The witnesses aren't either. But everything else
is. She didn't ask for anonymity. She didn't ask for anything'

    'So
what happened?'

    'She
washed up in the Thames at seven in the morning. An empty tour boat yanked her
out, and one of the tour guides dialled 999. She had mild hypothermia and
concussion. Dazed and confused. Didn't say much. Didn't know where she was. No
ID, no real idea of where she'd been or what had happened, plus she was pretty
messed up.'

    'In
what way?'

    'Bruises.
Lots of cuts. Bleeding.'

    'What
happened after they fished her out?'

    'She
gets rushed to A&E and the tour guides go off and talk to the media. Next
morning, it's playing out in the nationals. That's when Phillips and Hart got
wind of it. Luckily for them, half her face was damaged, which made describing
her hard. The tour guides told the papers as much as they knew, which wasn't a
lot. Next day, the task force leaked a story saying they "believed"
she was in her late forties…'

    Which
would have put her out of the age range of any of the women who'd gone missing
- including Sona - and dampened any expectation their families might have had.
Another hole plugged before it took everything down.

    'Couple
of days after that, Phillips leaks another story to the media telling them she
and her family want to remain anonymous. End of story.'

    I
looked out into the night, fists clenched, teeth locked together. So many lies,
one on top of the other. 'How has everything been contained?'

    'What
do you mean?'

    'I
mean, why haven't Professional Standards got wind of this? People talk. You
can't tell me everyone on the task force has remained silent.'

    'I
can — because they have.'

    'Nothing
has slipped out?'

    He
shrugged. 'The task forces are small. Trusted. They'll burn the uniform before
they give Professional Standards anything to feed on. Cops who investigate
other cops are pond life.'

    I
remembered Phillips's comment to Healy on the phone earlier
:
There's
a reason you're not part of this task force, or any other task force for that
matter. And it's because you can't be trusted
.
'If it's so
watertight, how do you know so much
?'

    'After
Leanne went missing, one of the guys helped me try to find her. I'd known him a
long, long time. He told me some things. I worked the rest out myself.'

    I
looked at him. In his face I could see the rest:
And I dug around in places
I shouldn't, I found out things I wasn't supposed to, and both the task forces
know.
That was what Phillips had meant when he said Healy couldn't be
trusted. Now the battle wasn't in keeping Healy from telling anyone about what
was going on; Healy was too invested in avenging his daughter to be concerned
with spilling secrets. The battle was in trying to prevent him from pulling
down every pillar they'd raised in their pursuit of Glass and his little black
book.

    'Does
Sona remember why she was in the Thames?'

    'No.
She hasn't really talked.'

    'About
what happened?'

    'About
anything.'

    'At
all?'

    'A
little, but not much. He's either totally screwed her up or she genuinely can't
remember. Doctors reckon she's got some sort of post-traumatic stress. Maybe
mild amnesia too. She needed fourteen stitches in her head.'

    'Surely
she wants to tell her family she's alive?'

    'Phillips,
Hart, Davidson, the rest of them - they're playing on her fear. She basically thinks
that she can't tell anyone she's alive or Glass will be back for her.'

    'This
is insane.'

    'I
told you it would be like this.'

    His
words from the night before came back to me
:
You can come with me, or
you can back down. But if you come with me, be prepared for it to get bad
.

    'Do
we have to worry about her having police protection tonight?'

    He
shook his head. 'No. We don't maintain a presence there, otherwise it starts to
look suspicious. The houses are close together; lots of windows, lots of
people. The task force calls her a couple of times a day, and she's got a panic
button for emergencies. That's why it's best to go at night. They don't bother
her after seven in the evening unless she indicates she's in trouble — and all
the neighbours will have their curtains shut, so we won't get any added
attention.'

    We
descended into silence.

    Healy
turned the radio on, and we both listened to the fallout from a north London
derby at the Emirates. About five minutes further on, he hung a right into a
short stretch of road with a series of double-storey, grey-brick terraced
houses at the far end. They looked like they'd been airlifted in from the
Eastern Bloc, then dumped in the centre of the city to decompose. A thin path
led through an arch and into a courtyard. There were no doors on the outside of
the buildings. The adjacent car park was set in semi- darkness, a solitary
street lamp standing sentry, its orange glow flickering on and off. Healy
pulled into it and killed the engine.