The Dead Tracks

    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.'

Chapter Fifty-eight

    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?'