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The door flew open, flooding the cramped cell with light. Alarmed, Helen looked up, expecting more aggravation – a sarcastic custody officer, the gloating Holmes again – but was surprised to see Charlie filling the doorway.

‘I wondered when the cavalry was going to arrive,’ Helen said, rising slowly.

‘You’re bloody lucky I’m here at all. We should be throwing the book at you.’

Helen stared at her old friend, surprised by her tone. She knew things were difficult between them, yet surely she was the one who should be aggrieved, given her treatment?

‘For what?’ Helen demanded.

‘For trespass. For harassment.’

‘Rachel Firth and her cronies deserve everything they get. I explained all this to the custody sergeant, showed him the footage of me being threatened, not that he took a blind bit of interest.’

‘And how did you get onto Regus in the first place?’ Charlie countered. ‘How did you trace your mystery van back to her in particular?’

Now Charlie had her and Helen knew it. Clearly Helen’s illicit use of Charlie’s log-in details to access the PNC had not gone unnoticed.

‘Yes, HR told me about that,’ Charlie continued, aggrieved. ‘Traced the breach to a city centre flat, didn’t even need to check the electoral roll – everybody in the station knows your address.’

‘Yeah, that was a mistake. I should have been more careful about where I accessed it from,’ Helen replied briskly.

‘It’s not where you logged in that’s important,’ Charlie fired back.

‘It’s the fact that you did it all. You must have known that it would come back on me.

How do you think Holmes will take this? It makes it look as though I’m assisting you, as though I’m encouraging your strange obsessions, facilitating your law-breaking, when in reality I’m trying to make a name for myself, to prove to everyone in this station that I can stand on my own two feet. ’

Helen immediate reaction was to hit back, hurt by Charlie’s continued insistence on pushing her away, but realizing the pressure her former colleague was under, she chose a more conciliatory approach.

‘You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, Charlie. You’re too good, have too much experience—’

‘Well, that’s easy for you to say,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘But my head’s on the block here. We’ve been up against it from the start, clutching at straws, but finally we’ve got a tangible lead. Which is why it’s not bloody ideal to have to come down here to bail you out.’

Charlie stared at Helen, defiant and emotional. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Helen suddenly felt chastened. She had thought too much of herself these past few days, not enough about her old friend.

‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, you’re totally right. And I apologize sincerely for that. I wasn’t aware how tough things were for you.’

Charlie said nothing, but Helen could see that the apology had landed.

‘If you need me to straighten things out with Holmes, I will do so, of course. I never meant to cause you any trouble and I know what she can be like. She was in here not half an hour ago, crowing at my misfortune, revelling in my discomfort.’

Now it was Charlie’s turn to look regretful.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she responded sheepishly. ‘If I’d known you’d been picked up, I would have come down here earlier.’

‘Well, I would have called you, but I wasn’t allowed a phone call. Or any water, or access to a toilet, which I could really bloody do with …’

And now Charlie’s expression seemed to alter, concern dissipating her evident annoyance.

‘Are you OK, Helen? You do look really pale …’

Never had her friend’s words been truer. Helen looked like death and felt little better. Taking a breath, she chose her words carefully:

‘Well, let’s just say that your joke was on the money.’

For a moment, Charlie stared at Helen in mystification, then the memory of her parting shot in the pub slowly took hold.

‘Oh, my God, Helen, you’re …?’

Her eyes dropped to Helen’s belly.

‘Looks that way. Going to congratulate me?’

Helen’s tone was dry as a bone, but Charlie seemed not to notice.

‘Well of course, I’m thrilled for you, if this is what you want … but I’m more concerned with you . You shouldn’t be getting into fights, getting arrested, when you’re pregnant. Jesus, Helen, you should be taking fewer risks, not more . You need to look after yourself.’

Normally, Helen would have bridled at being lectured, but in truth, Charlie’s concern nearly undid her, acts of kindness, of simple fellow feeling, having been scarce of late.

‘Yeah, well I’ve never been very good at that,’ Helen conceded, swallowing her emotion. ‘Things keep getting in the way.’

‘Well, first things first,’ Charlie replied, ‘let’s get you out of here.’

The pair marched along the corridor, as they had countless times before. This time the dynamic was very different, Helen no longer leading her deputy in the hunt for justice. Now they were simply two old friends, muddling along in very difficult circumstances.

‘Look, I may be a distinctly average DI,’ Charlie said eventually, ‘and a neglectful mother to boot …’

‘That’s not true,’ Helen protested. ‘None of it.’

‘But I can at least be a decent friend,’ Charlie insisted, guiding her towards the exit. ‘Which is why I’m ordering you to go home and put your feet up. I’ll call you later, OK?, and when I’ve got a spare second, I’ll pop round, so we can have a proper chat.’

Helen paused on the threshold, ignoring the custody sergeant’s curiosity, staring at Charlie with real emotion.

She’d hated this feeling of distance between them, the sense that she had angered and disappointed her by the stance she’d made, somehow sacrificing the only real friend she’d ever had in the process.

She longed for reconciliation and now, for the first time in ages, she saw a softening in her old friend’s expression, hints of the former warmth they’d shared.

Relieved, she leaned in for a hug, pulling her colleague to her.

‘You are a good pal,’ Helen whispered fiercely. ‘I do know that and I’m sorry.’

‘Nothing to be sorry for,’ Charlie responded, slowly disengaging. ‘Now, you get yourself straight home, right? I’ll deal with the paperwork.’

She gave Helen a mock stern look, earning a smile.

Turning, Helen patted her on the arm once more, heading out of the building and down the steps towards the car park, adrenaline and sheer relief driving her forward.

Her arresting officers had at least allowed her the courtesy of driving herself to the station, once she’d promised to comply with all their instructions, and she made her way to her Kawasaki now.

Mounting it, she fired up the ignition and pulled smartly away, keen to put her embarrassment behind her.

Cruising through the city centre, Helen’s mind pulsed with contradictory thoughts, her heart with competing instincts.

Charlie was right of course, she was foolhardy to put herself in danger, for her own sake as much as for the baby she was carrying.

But the logical extension of this line of thought was that Helen would soon be pottering around at home, taking care of herself and her offspring, whilst outside the world continued to turn with its predictable parade of selfishness, wrongdoing and criminality.

Could Helen just sit back and pretend that none of that existed?

That the suffering she’d glimpsed first-hand in the last few days was some kind of illusion? She already knew the answer to that.

It was late now, the city lights sparkling in the darkness, so Helen made swift progress through the quiet streets, arriving at South Hants hospital in under ten minutes.

Parking up, she padded down the western fringe of the main building, making her way to her hiding place behind the parked ambulances.

Her plan was a simple one, possibly a forlorn hope, but it was her only play now.

She had done as much as she could with Rachel Firth, who would no doubt be scrupulous now to keep any connection to the illegal workers concealed.

Business was business, however, and contracts had to be honoured.

Medical waste still had to be bagged up and spirited away, hence why she’d returned to the hospital tonight.

Minutes became hours and still there was no sign of the van, then suddenly two beams of white light illuminated her hiding place.

Ducking behind the parked vehicles, Helen clung to the shadows, watching as the dented white van pulled up in the hatched loading bay.

Moments later, the back doors were flung open and the disenfranchised workers piled out, the masked women trooping into the hospital through the staff entrance.

One of the workers was markedly slower than the others, hobbling towards the hospital as though barely able to stand.

Taking a step forward, Helen ran her eye over the poor woman.

Was it her imagination or was this the same woman who’d thrust the note into Helen’s hand?

She looked about the same height, had the same build and similar shoulder-length hair.

Was this her? If so, what on earth had happened to her?

Consumed by anger, Helen watched the woman disappear inside, waiting patiently for the remaining minder to wander off, phone clamped to his ear.

Then, spying a porter approaching the rear doors, Helen made her move, waiting until he’d buzzed the doors open, before slipping inside the building behind him.

Up until now, she’d sat back, been circumspect, but the time for caution was over.

These women were clearly in grave danger and she was no longer prepared to sit back and ignore their plight.

It was time to act.